


The Parseltongue Twins: Year Three

by blackholebabey



Series: the parseltwins [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Dementors, Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, Voldemort is Hermione Granger's Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey
Summary: Dumbledore has fled Hogwarts, but he's still at large and still trying to manipulate the wizarding world from in the shadows... and he's not the only one. Join Hydrus and Hermione as they navigate their new family dynamic, battle dementors, and try to keep out of the former headmaster's reach.Third Installment of the Parseltongue Twins series.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black/Severus Snape, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: the parseltwins [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849585
Comments: 329
Kudos: 626





	1. The Imperius Curse

The news of the Lestranges being freed from Azkaban had spread far and wide among Wizarding Britain, receiving a mixed bag of reactions. Some were outraged that so many had been wrongfully convicted at the end of war with the Dark Lord, some felt they still deserved to be in Azkaban for _something_ since they were Dark wizards and marked Death Eaters, and others still found themselves being looked into further due to their own involvement in this latest wrongful imprisonment scandal.

One such person was Barty Crouch Senior. Having sent his own son to Azkaban without proof, the Ministry—and especially the DMLE—had become quite interested in the rest of his conviction record. His job and reputation were both under threat, and he was growing more paranoid by the day that his house would be investigated. It was enough to make the man unstable. It was enough to make him sloppy.

For the first time in over a decade, Barty Crouch Junior was experiencing a moment of clarity. In his father’s paranoia about his jailbreak and resulting ten year coverup, his reapplications of the Imperius Curse had been growing weaker. There might even be a chance of breaking free from the curse’s hold any day now. He just had to be patient.

Barty had heard from one of his father’s frequent angry rants that he and the Lestranges had all been found innocent, and that the Lestranges had been released from Azkaban several months ago. Rod and Bella had even gotten their kids back and were rumored to be living with Sirius Black—who had been released the year prior while Barty was still too deep under the Imperius Curse to remember hearing the news.

When he’d first learned of his friends’ newfound freedom, Barty had been hopeful that his father might free him of his own imprisonment. After all, there was no point in keeping an innocent man trapped under one of the Unforgivables. What he hadn’t counted on was his father’s fear for his own reputation. If it ever got out that he’d sprung Barty from Azkaban just to imprison him at home, his career—and possibly his freedom—would come to an end.

And so, Barty waited. The curse wasn’t yet weak enough for him to break free, but he’d at least regained enough cognizance to realize he was under the curse. He could think now, which made things both better and worse. The days went by so slowly when one was unable to move and had nothing but their own thoughts to keep them company. However, it also gave him plenty of time to plan. He’d spent days agonizing over the finer details of his eventual escape, and now, with everything worked out, all that was left was to put it into action.

The Lestranges would help him. He knew they would. He’d just need to find them.

The Black family had a number of properties, and the Lestranges could be at any one of them. Black Manor and Grimmauld Place were the most likely possibilities, though, due to their being in England. Barty doubted Bella and Rod would want to live abroad, not after nearly twelve years of being kept away from their extended family. Besides, wouldn’t their children be old enough to attend Hogwarts by now? They’d want to stay nearby for that as well.

“Junior Master Barty, it’s being time for your afternoon potions.”

Barty stirred at the sound of Winky’s voice. She might be a Crouch family house elf, but she’d always been loyal to him in particular. He hoped that she’d agree to come with him once he managed to escape.

The potions were silently spelled into Barty’s stomach with a slight sloshing of his innards. Even under the Imperius Curse, he wasn’t trusted with enough freedom to eat or drink anything on his own. Even the consumption of potions keeping him alive in his incapacitated state was controlled by someone else—usually Winky.

Tiny, too thin fingers patted Barty’s hand. “Winky is knowing now that Junior Master Barty is innocent,” she told him, “but she always suspected this is being the case. Junior Master be deserving better than this.”

_Thank you, Winky_ , Barty desperately wanted to say. He tried to move his fingers, to show some sign that he was growing more lucid by the day, but to no avail.

“Junior Master is being a bit cold,” Winky muttered to herself. “Winky be getting him an extra blanket.”

It wasn’t until Winky apparated out of the room that Barty noticed that he was indeed a bit chilly. She must’ve picked up on it when she’d put her hand on his. She’d always been attentive like that.

Winky returned a moment later and placed an additional blanket on Barty, taking care to tuck him in like she had back when he was a child. It was a familiar sort of affection he’d never received from either of his parents, as most of the child-rearing had been done by the house elf. She’d been his family when his actual family had been too busy for him, and that was something he’d never forget.

“There, nice and cozy,” she cooed as she finished tucking him in. “Winky wishes Junior Master could be telling her what he needs, but Winky will do her best to figure it out for him.”

Once again, Barty found himself wishing he could thank Winky, but the Imperius command of “don’t move, don’t make a sound” was too hard for him to fight.

Barty had never been a particularly strong-willed individual, always eagerly following along with those who were more powerful and more popular than him. Even if the Lestranges _had_ decided to torture the Longbottoms into insanity, he probably would’ve agreed to go with them. After all, he’d been devastated when the Dark Lord had disappeared and likely would have latched onto any plan for vengeance he’d been offered.

The allure of being under the Imperius Curse was far more powerful than that of any one person’s charisma. One might freely choose to listen to a command or a request under normal circumstances, but the curse whispered in its victim’s ear that doing as commanded was the most natural thing in the world. Why fight something that rewarded you for giving in? Why think for yourself when someone else could think for you? It seemed so right, surrendering control.

Because of his tendencies to follow the will of others, it had taken Barty several years just to realize he was under the Imperius Curse. He had simply believed he _wanted_ to stay still and make no sound. For several years after that, he’d accepted that he was under the curse and thought he didn’t mind it. After all, it was comfortable here. Why should he fight it? Why not just give in and accept this prison over Azkaban?

But with the news of the Lestranges being freed and his father’s weakening attempts at the Imperius Curse, Barty could finally see the truth. His father had imprisoned him within his own body and mind, isolated and barely functioning and just as trapped in his worst memories as he would have been with the dementors. This wasn’t a mercy. It was Hell.

For months, he’d worked on those plans of his, plans to get out of here and find the Lestranges and get revenge for what his father had done. It was only a matter of time. He didn’t want to stay still and keep quiet anymore. Something had to give.

_Thank you_ , he continued thinking in Winky’s direction. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! THANK YOU!_

It had to come out sooner or later, right? He just had to keep trying. His willpower had to be stronger than his father’s. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

He would thank the elf. He had to thank her. She deserved it. He didn’t care that his father wanted him to be silent. He didn’t want to be silent anymore. He would thank the elf, his father’s will be damned.

Barty’s lips began to twitch. He was moving! He was finally doing something! It wasn’t coordinated and he couldn’t make any sound come out, but it was a start. Finally, after all these years, he had a sign that he’d be able to break free.

A hoarse, strange noise filled the room, terrifying and barely human. But before Barty could worry about what the sound was, he realized his mouth was fully open. That awful sound was what was left of his unused voice.

“Thank… you… Winky.”

The house elf startled at Barty’s strangled attempt at speaking. “You is being quite welcome, Junior Master,” she replied, her voice warbling with intense emotion. “Winky is so happy you is able to be saying things today.”

“Don’t… tell…” The words came out slowly, his mouth only barely listening to his brain. “Father.”

Winky gave a vigorous nod. “Of course not, Junior Master. What Senior Master is not knowing cannot be upsetting him.”

If he could’ve, Barty would’ve chuckled at Winky’s words. It was the same thing she used to tell him as a child when she’d sneak him extra desserts or give him hot cocoa after a nightmare. Some things, he supposed, never changed.

As Winky quietly apparated out of the room, Barty allowed himself to feel hopeful for the first time in over a decade. He had managed to break free from his father’s Imperius Curse, even if only barely. Today was just a few words, but who knew what tomorrow would bring? Perhaps movement. Perhaps proper sentences. It was only a matter of time before he fought his way out of the curse’s clutches.

_I’ll be out of here soon enough_ , he assured himself. _My will is stronger than my father’s._


	2. Heir Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone's becoming an heir, babey!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter.  
> 2\. sorry for the absurd delay. the vp for my department at work keeps chucking last minute projects at me like the sadistic bastard he is.

Hydrus had once thought the summer after his first year at Hogwarts was the best summer he’d ever had. He’d had an aunt and uncle and cousins that weren’t anything like the Dursleys (even if one of them used to be called Dursley). He’d had a sister like he’d always wanted, and the two of them had a father who was very much alive and had most certainly not died in a car crash like the Dursleys had claimed happened to the Potters. He even had a Sirius, who was a lot like what most people would call a “crazy uncle”—except Sirius wasn’t quite a close enough relation to be his uncle and in fact refused to be referred to by any sort of title except Marauder.

But as amazing as that summer had been, this one was shaping up to be exponentially better. He’d gained a mother and a second father and yet another uncle. None of them were quite what anyone would call sane, but that didn’t matter one bit to Hydrus. All three of these new additions to his ever-growing family loved him unconditionally, and that was the important thing. Besides, both Hydrus and Hermione had long since accepted that anyone in the Black family tree was at least a little bit unhinged. It wasn’t hard to extend that same acceptance to the particular brand of insanity that ran in the Lestrange family as well.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and craziness and learning how to be a family. There were certain duties associated with being members of Ancient and Noble houses that needed to be dealt with.

One of the biggest responsibilities was that of getting the children their heir rings. Two weeks into break, Hydrus’ parents decided it was time take all the thirteen year olds in the family to claim their rings. Thirteen was the minimum required age to accept the rings, but the adults felt it was best to do it as soon as possible. The rings were imbued with magical properties that could detect harmful potions and protect against minor compulsions, and, considering all the manipulations that had already been at play in their young lives, Hydrus could understand the rush to claim them now.

He already knew he’d be claiming the Slytherin ring and Hermione would be claiming the Lestrange one, but that still left the Gaunt ring up for grabs. And while the Gaunt ring was traditionally tied to the Slytherin as a result of their lines combining, Hydrus had other plans in mind. He’d already discussed it with Hermione, and she wholeheartedly agreed with his idea. Now all that was left was to talk to Father. After all, Hydrus couldn’t exactly make changes to inheritances without the help of the family’s Head of House.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door of his father’s study.

There was no reply at first, but just as Hydrus was preparing to knock for a second time, his father finally said: “Come in.”

Hydrus opened the door to see his father at his desk, half hidden by the stacks of paperwork in front of him. Between being the lord of two ancient houses, a founder’s heir, and the new Alchemy professor at Hogwarts, Father spent most of his time these days with his nose buried in important documents of some kind. He still made time for his kids and Dade, but it was easy to see that he’d been rather overwhelmed as of late.

_~Be careful, hatchling~,_ Nagini warned Hydrus as he approached his father. _~He has been looking at the school numbers and talking to himself again.~_

Hydrus grimaced. As a founder’s heir, Father had the authority to request audits of the school budget, as well as its Gringotts accounts. He’d requested five years of the school’s financial documents after Dumbledore was ousted, and, by the time he’d finished reading everything, he looked ready to kill.

Dumbledore, it turned out, had been stealing from the school accounts and giving the money to himself and some of his closest friends—all while claiming he needed to cut electives and put a freeze on buying books for the library due to insufficient funds. Upon seeing the blatant theft and fraud, Father had quested the budget for Dumbledore’s entire tenure as headmaster. He was still pouring over decades’ worth of stolen funds that could have been put toward improvements Hogwarts desperately needed were it not for the former headmaster’s greed. 

“Father?” Hydrus inquired.

“Yes?” his father replied, tearing his eyes away from the financial documents—looking personally offended by their very existence.

“So… I’ve been thinking—”

“Should I be worried?” his father cut him off in a teasing tone.

Hydrus stuck out his tongue. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about how we’ll be going to Gringotts to claim our heir rings later today, and I couldn’t help but remember that Hermione and I are meant to be inheriting three three titles between the two of us.”

“Yes,” his father confirmed. “Slytherin, Gaunt, and Lestrange. Why? Is there an issue with who was named primary for the lines?”

“No, we’re both perfectly happy with our primary heirships,” Hydrus quickly assured his father. After all, it had been decided by Lady Magic herself. They’d be fools to contest her judgement. “It’s my secondary and her tertiary that I wanted to talk about.”

“And which one is that?”

“Gaunt. The thing is, neither of us want it.”

His father didn’t look particularly happy to hear that, but he didn’t lose his temper either. “Care to explain why?” he asked icily.

“Because if we both reject it,” Hydrus said slowly, watching for his father’s reaction, “then the next eligible Gaunt heir is Dade.”

“You and Hermione wish to gift the Gaunt title to your cousin,” Father realized, “and you’ve come to ask my permission to do so.”

Hydrus nodded. “Yes. Neither of us were particularly interested in the possibility of taking up multiple lordships one day—especially not when there’s already a perfectly acceptable parselmouth without any other titles who could fulfil the role.”

“The Slytherin and Gaunt lordships have been tied together for centuries, ever since Fiadh Slytherin married Morpheus Gaunt and took her husband’s last name,” Father began slowly, and for a moment, Hydrus was worried his request would be rejected. “Truth be told, it never occurred to me that the lordships could still be passed on independently of one another. But if both you and your sister think it best, then I have no problem with allowing the two titles to be uncoupled.”

Tension Hydrus hadn’t even realized he was carrying melted from his shoulders. Had he truly been that concerned about giving Dade the Gaunt heirship and eventual lordship? As shocking as it was, he supposed he had.

If someone had told newly eleven Harry Potter that he would one day want to gift his bully of a cousin a lordship, he’d have laughed in their face. After all, the young Dudley Dursley had been horrible to him, always beating him up and chasing away anyone who tried to be his friend. Harry Potter would have assumed that a lordship would only make Dudley’s bullying worse and would have done everything in his power to stop him from becoming a lord. 

It was strange how much things could change in the span of two years. Newly thirteen Hydrus Lestrange hadn’t thought of himself as Harry Potter for ages, and he had long since begun to think of Dudley Dursley and Daedalus Gaunt as two entirely separate people. And while Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley had hated being family, Hydrus and Dade were rather close. It only made sense that Hydrus would want his cousin to know how drastically different things were.

Even though it had been a year, there were still moments where Dade didn’t quite think of himself as being a real member of the family. He seemed to consider himself an outsider who shouldn’t be fully included in family events—no doubt a lingering side effect of having watched how his parents treating his cousin over the years. Gifting him the Gaunt heir ring was about so much more than Hydrus having no interest in holding two lordships one day or some desire to be fair. It was a way of showing Dade that he was just as much a part of their family as anyone else.

Realizing that he’d been silent for far too long, Hydrus told his father, “Thank you.”

“Of course, my son,” Father said with a smile. “I’m quite proud of you for wanting to give your cousin this opportunity to honor the family name.”

Hydrus tried not to roll his eyes at his father’s overly formal phrasing. There was no need for all of that. He just wanted to do the right thing.

*****

Molly Weasley stared at the missive from the Wizengamot in a state of shock. If it weren’t for the recent barrage of betrayals by Albus Dumbledore, she wouldn’t believe a single word written on the piece of parchment. Then again, she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything better from the man who killed the wonderful, kind young Potters.

Her older brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett had been murdered by a group of Death Eaters led by Antonin Dolohov in 1978. Leader of the Light Albus Dumbledore had assured Molly that he could help her take care of the associated Ministry paperwork so that she could focus on the funeral arrangements and being there for her family. In the middle of a war with three young children and two more on the way, Molly had graciously accepted the offer for help and trusted him to do the right thing.

Instead, Dumbledore had lied to her about the contents of her brothers’ wills. He’d taken out several priceless family heirlooms from the Prewett vault, along with a 100 galleon monthly withdrawal that he’d assured her was a donation to the war efforts that her brothers had insisted upon. But that was hardly the worst of his crimes against her family. Albus Dumbledore had committed line theft.

Fabian and Gideon had named Molly the next Lord Prewett in their wills, something that had Dumbledore had failed to mention at any point in the fifteen years since their deaths. He’d also assigned himself as her proxy without her knowledge. The strangest part was that she probably would have assigned him as proxy back then if he’d brought it up, but she supposed he must have hidden it from her so that he could cast the votes without asking for her input.

Molly Weasley had no interest in being named Lord Prewett, nor did she want the responsibilities that came along with it. She was perfectly happy with being a wife and mother. Luckily, if things went her way, she’d only have to carry the title for one more year.

“Percy, dear, could you come here for a moment?” she asked her son.

“Yeah, Mum?” came Percy’s slightly confused reply as he made his way over to her.

Molly handed her son the letter from the Wizengamot, just like she had when briefing Arthur, and then Bill and Charlie. She found it much easier to let them read the official document than to try explaining it herself. The language of law and politics had never been her specialty.

As Percy read the letter, his expression changed from that of confusion to anger, and then finally to surprise. It was clear to see that, just like Molly and Arthur and their two oldest sons, Percy never would have imagined that Dumbledore would betray their family the way he had. It was almost unthinkable that the self-proclaimed Leader of the Light could have proven to be such an insidious figure in their world.

“Mum, are you…” Percy trailed off, his eyes still glued to the parchment, “are you Lord Prewett? That’s what this is saying, right?”

“Yes, it seems I’ve become Lord Prewett,” Molly confirmed, “though hopefully not for much longer.”

Percy arched a curious eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Are you passing the title to Bill?”

Molly shook her head. “Not quite. I am passing it on, but not to Bill. Both Bill and Charlie have already declined the offer to take up the lordship,” she explained, carefully watching her son’s reaction. She knew he was a smart enough boy to figure out where this was going. “Because of that, you are now next in line to become Lord Prewett.”

Percy’s eyes grew comically wide. “Are you… I mean… um… what do I need to take up the lordship?”

Molly smiled at her son. She knew Percy would put his all into it and do everything to honor the family title. “For starters, you need to finish your schooling. I won’t allow the Prewett family to be represented by someone who hasn’t got any of their N.E.W.T.s,” she told him, knowing full well that he’d have no problems with the stipulation. “But as for the actual requirements—the family charter requires the lord to carry the last name Prewett. You can either switch to Prewett or become Prewett-Weasley. There’s also a fairly strict honor code that you’ll have to uphold, but I know I didn’t raise the sort of boy who couldn’t live up to it.”

“Yes, of course,” Percy agreed, nodding eagerly. “I’d be honored to take on the lordship.”

And the lordship would be equally honored to have him. Of all her seven children, Molly knew that Percy was the best suited for the task. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were far too adventurous to settle down and become a lord—with the oldest two already out of the country for work and Ginny just as excited about the prospect of exploring the world as her older brothers. Fred and George were too free-spirited, even more that Fabian and Gideon had been, and would no doubt reject the lordship just to avoid being tied down by the responsibilities. As for Ron, well, the boy was far too earnest to become a lord. The Wizengamot would eat her baby boy alive.

But Percy was intelligent and cunning and ambitious, and he represented the best of what made someone a Slytherin. He knew how to network and create strong connections for the bright future he wanted more than anything else, and he had the tenacity to go after what he wanted no matter the personal cost. He could be a bit single-minded in his pursuits at times, but Molly suspected that would only help him in his work as Lord Prewett.

Molly hugged her son tightly. All her kids were growing up far too fast, at least in her opinion. It seemed like only yesterday that she was taking Percy to the Hogwarts Express for the first time, and now he was set to start his final year and then become a lord and Head of House.

“The lord and heir rings are still in England, so we’ll have to wait until after our vacation’s over to get everything squared away,” she explained to Percy. “And then, once you’ve got your N.E.W.T. results, we’ll see what I need to do to officially pass on the lordship to you.”

Percy beamed at her, and Molly knew she’d made the right choice. After all those years that had been stolen by Dumbledore, the two of them were finally going to get things back on track.

*****

Hydrus and his family were escorted to a private boardroom as soon as they entered Gringotts. It was much larger than the room he and Hermione had been brought to when they’d discovered their true identities, although, considering the number of people they were with today, that made sense. There was no way all four young teenagers and their guardians would have been able to fit in such a small space.

Draco and his parents would have normally gone off to a different room for privacy’s sake, but because of how close all the teens were, the Malfoys had agreed to let them all get their rings together. The goblins had no problems with allowing it. They didn’t much care either way, and, as long as none of the wizards in attendance didn’t have any objections to the arrangement, they saw no reason to deny the request.

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” Draco said excitedly, his pureblood manners entirely forgotten as he fidgeted in his seat. “I’ve been waiting for this for forever.”

Hydrus nodded in agreement. He could understand his cousin’s excitement, even if he hadn’t been waiting for this for nearly as long.

Hermione, however, rolled her eyes. “Honestly, it’s as if you’ve forgotten that you’ve been your family’s heir the whole time,” she replied in an imperious tone. “This is just the next step in making it official.”

“Let the boys have their fun,” Mum teasingly admonished her. “It might be the only chance I’ll get to see a Malfoy show some emotion.”

While Mum respected Uncle Lucius a great deal, she made no secret of her beliefs that he had no sense of fun. She’d even gone as far as calling him boring and repressed, though, admittedly, that only tended to happen after he’d shut down one of her less sane ideas. 

After a bit of good-natured ribbing back and forth between Mum and Uncle Lucius, the goblin account managers for the Lestrange, Gaunt, Slytherin, and Malfoy families finally arrived. All four of them wore quite serious expressions, a stark contrast to the giddiness of displayed by Hydrus and his family. Hydrus idly wondered if he should act as serious as the goblins, or if they just looked like that because saw this as wizard business that they didn’t particularly care about.

A few stern introductions and a bit of shuffling later, and Hydrus was sitting in front of a goblin named Ironclaw while Dade and Hermione were introduced to the goblins in charge of their own inherited family accounts. Father had pulled up a chair behind him so that he could more easily oversee him and Dade, and Mum and Dad had done the same for Hermione.

Ironclaw produced a ring box from his pocket and presented it to Hydrus. “The Slytherin heir ring, Mr. Gaunt-Lestrange,” he announced.

Hydrus opened the box and tried not to gasp. It was quite possibly the single most exquisite piece of jewelry he’d ever seen. The ring was aged, slightly tarnished silver that twisted and writhed like a snake on the hunt. Stunning green emeralds took the place of the snake’s eyes, and in its mouth was a flat disc with the Slytherin coat of arms carved into it.

“It’s beautiful,” Hydrus breathed.

“Quite,” replied Ironclaw in a no-nonsense voice, not nearly as impressed with the ring as Hydrus. “It may look too big for you right now, but if Magic accepts you as the heir, the ring will adjust in size to fit your finger.”

“And if Magic doesn’t accept us?” Dade hesitantly asked, holding the Gaunt heir ring close to his face to get a better look.

Ironclaw shrugged. “Nothing, at least not as far as I know. It’s the lordship rings that tend to be more volatile in that regard.”

Mum nodded in agreement, making an odd sort of expression that Hydrus could only guess meant she’d either seen or heard of something awful happening to someone who was rejected by a lord ring. She probably had. The Most Ancient Noble House of Black seemed like the sort of family that would lay down some truly nasty curses to keep unworthy lords from becoming their Head of House.

“Don’t worry,” Father assured them. “You’d know beforehand if you were rejected for the lordship, so the chances of being cursed by accident are slim to none.”

That didn’t make Hydrus feel much better, and, judging by the looks on Hermione and Dade’s faces, they didn’t feel reassured by that either.

“Go on,” Dad urged the three of them, while Uncle Lucius did the same for Draco.

After a moment’s hesitation, Hydrus slipped the ring onto his finger. Just like Ironclaw had said, it tightened until it was the right size. It felt heavy and unfamiliar on his finger, but it also felt right. It was official. He was now the Heir of Slytherin.


	3. Weddings and Werewolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sirius and remus finally get married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter even though my ideas are better than jkr's

It had taken twenty-two years of friendship, sixteen years of dating, four months of legal battles to improve upon the rights of werewolves, and several weeks of constant begging, but Sirius Black had finally convinced Remus Lupin to marry him. They had decided against doing anything grand or flashy—which came as a surprise to anyone familiar with Sirius’ incredibly loud personality. Instead, the ceremony would be a small gathering of family and close friends in the gardens behind Grimmauld Place. It wouldn’t at all live up to what was expected of a pureblood lord like Sirius, but they couldn’t have cared less. This was for them, not the rest of wizarding society.

Hydrus was excited for his mum’s cousin. After spending a decade imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, Sirius deserved a bit of happiness. Everyone knew he’d be even happier if the real culprit for the crime he’d been accused of—a horrid little rat of a man named Peter Pettigrew—received the Dementor’s Kiss, but getting married to the love of his life was the second best thing. Justice and revenge would happen on their own time. Sirius could at least pick when to marry.

Speaking of Pettigrew—a funny thing had happened when Hydrus told Ron about what had _really_ happened during the showdown between Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black nearly twelve years ago. At the mention of Pettigrew’s rat animagus form, Ron had gone quite green and looked like he might vomit. When Hydrus had asked why, his friend explained that the rat Scabbers he’d had for part of first year was missing a toe on his front paw, had lived far longer than rats typically do, and mysteriously disappeared in the middle of last spring. Ron had assumed at the time that the ancient rat had gone off somewhere to die in peace. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.

“I want to know what I can have him charged with, seeing as I might’ve had a grown man sleeping in my bed for months,” Ron had decided shortly after coming to the conclusion that Scabbers must have been Pettigrew., His expression hardened into a mix of fury, disgust, and determination. “It might not be as bad as killing thirteen muggles, but you’ve got to admit that it’s pretty messed up.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but agree with his friend’s assessment of the situation.

Problems with Pettigrew aside, the Lupin-Black wedding was shaping up to be the premier family event of the summer. Aunt Andromeda and Aunt Narcissa had strong-armed Sirius into letting them help with the planning, which quickly led to them taking it over entirely. Mum had helped as well, but seeing as she agreed with just about every suggestion Sirius made, there was precious little of her influence showing through. Everyone secretly felt that his was a good thing, not that they’d ever tell Mum that to her face.

By the time the wedding day had finally arrived, the gardens and the main floor of Grimmauld Place were completely unrecognizable. For one, nothing was cursed. There were still a number of questionable artefacts lying around, but none of them were about to cause bodily harm to anyone who dared touch them. It was a vast improvement compared to winter break, when there were only about two or three rooms that were safe to enter.

Hydrus and his sister had helped with the cleaning aspect, even if they hadn’t been allowed to try breaking any of the curses. There were still plenty of things that were just plain ugly or weird that needed to be done away with. They’d been allowed to burn some of them as well, but they’d needed adult supervision for that part. Apparently thirteen wasn’t old enough to burn hideous nicknacks on one’s own.

With the house mostly safe, a good portion of the furniture replaced, a new coat of paint on the walls, and a garden that now grew real living flowers, Grimmauld Place seemed almost like an acceptable place to hold a wedding. Luckily, everyone who was going to be there only qualified as “almost acceptable” as well, so at least everything would match.

“You ready?” Hermione asked from the doorway, looking picture perfect for the event.

Hydrus took one last opportunity to smooth out his dress robes and nodded. “Definitely.”

“And do you think Sirius and Remus are ready?”

“They better be,” Hydrus replied with a chuckle. “It’s only been, what, forever that they’ve been dating?”

“Longer than we’ve been alive anyway,” his sister conceded, her lips forming a grin. “I meant if they were ready to start the wedding, though. Aunt Andromeda’s already getting anxious that they’re cutting things a bit close.”

“Oh. Uh, probably?”

That made quite a bit more sense now that Hydrus thought about it. Of course Sirius would be ready in the grand scheme of things. They’d had nearly two decades for it. But Sirius was one of the least organized and least punctual people to have ever lived, so it was all too plausible that he wouldn’t be dressed or done with his hair or something else along those lines.

Hermione sighed. “I just hope I don’t walk in on anything indecent when I go to collect him.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at that. Living at Grimmauld Place while Mum, Dad, and Uncle Rabastan were recovering from Azkaban had revealed so much more about Sirius and Remus than he’d ever wanted to know. Remus at least had the decency to look guilty whenever they got caught snogging in a more public part of the house, but Sirius was unfortunately above such emotions as shame and embarrassment. Instead, he looked terribly smug whenever anyone walked in on them, a silent brag that he’d managed to get Remus to fall in love with him.

“I doubt you will,” Hydrus assured his sister. “I mean, it’s not like they’re unaware that people are looking for them.”

“True,” Hermione agreed, though she didn’t sound particularly convinced.

Finding Sirius and Remus proved to be far less scarring than either twin had expected. Much to their surprise, both grooms had listened to the rule of not seeing each other that morning until it was time for the ceremony. Instead, they were both having completely separate panic attacks about not being good enough for the other—leading to Hydrus giving Remus a pep talk and Hermione threatening to slap some sense into Sirius if he didn’t get his act together.

Once both men had both calmed down, the twins led them to the gardens, keeping hold of them just in case they got cold feet and tried to make a run for it. Hydrus doubted either of them would be that stupid, but commitment could do strange things to people. Luckily, the journey was wholly uneventful.

“You alright?” Hydrus asked Remus one last time before the werewolf made his way to the altar. His hands were shaking and he looked a bit green.

Remus gave a jerky nod. “I am, mostly. Just nervous.”

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Hydrus assured him.

Remus didn’t look particularly convinced, but he joined an equally nervous looking Sirius up at the altar anyway. Despite their nervousness, there was no denying how completely and utterly in love the two were—especially whenever they looked at one another and broke into matching grins. If anything, the nervousness only highlighted how eagerly they’d been anticipating this moment.

Madame Amelia Bones stood between them at the altar. She was to preside over the ceremony. As both the head of the DMLE and the newly established Gray Lord, she had both the power and the authority to officiate a marriage bond. It also helped that she and Sirius had both been Aurors together back in the day and had since renewed their old friendship. She’d been thrilled when he asked her to officiate.

“Aren’t they so adorable?” Mum gushed as Hydrus sat down beside her. “Remus will be the first ever werewolf to be consort to the Black family lord, you know. We’re about to see history in the making.”

“First Dark creature consort of any kind in our family’s history,” Hermione clarified. She and Dad had gone through the Black family records after the first time Mum brought up how Sirius was rejecting the family motto of “Toujours Pur” by marrying a half-blood werewolf.

Mum grinned, a slight glimmer of mania in her eyes. “And a love match to boot!”

While magical compatibility was an important factor in some of the older marriage contracts, actual compatibility between the two parties wasn’t. Mum and Dad were a rarity in that they’d become almost fanatically obsessed with one another from the moment they met and would’ve surely broken any marriage contract that tried to keep them apart. Both Mum and Dad’s parents, however, had never quite settled into their marriages. Mum’s parents had grown to hate each other over the years, while Dad’s had taken to ignoring one another as much as possible.

Uncle Lucius, on the other hand, was originally meant to marry Aunt Andromeda despite the fact that the two had almost nothing in common and had barely managed more than forced niceties before she ran away to elope with Uncle Ted. He’d already developed feelings for Aunt Narcissa and she had for him, and the two of them managed to convince their parents that signing a marriage contract between them would prove to be far more beneficial than trying to convince Aunt Andromeda to return. It all worked out in the end, but both Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa would have preferred to be able to choose one another in the first place rather than depending on Aunt Andromeda to break the marriage contract.

It was because of their parents’ history with poorly matched marriage contracts and the mess following Aunt Andromeda’s elopement that no one in Hydrus’ generation had been promised to anyone. The fact that their parents wanted them to be happy also helped. Magical compatibility hardly mattered if one had to sacrifice every positive aspect of being married.

Madame Bones waved her wand and cast a _Sonorus_ charm, bringing the small crowd of family and close friends to a calm silence. “We are gathered here today to join Sirius Orion Black and Remus John Lupin in both marriage and magic. I doubt I’ll get any actual objections, and there’s no chance either man would listen to your objections no matter how loudly you voiced them, but, as it is tradition, I must ask if anyone thinks these two should not be wed.”

As expected, no one had any objections to the union.

“Very well,” Madame Bones continued with an amused half-smile. “Let us begin.”

The ceremony itself was rather short, at least compared to what Hydrus knew about muggle weddings. It was a quick exchange of vows, a spell that made strands of Sirius and Remus’ magic visible long enough to become intertwined, and then the presentation of the consort ring to Remus. All in all, the whole thing took less than twenty minutes.

Seeing their magic intertwine had been beautiful. It had come to life in thin, shining threads that danced along their forearms until it was no longer possible to distinguish their magics from another. Settling atop their skin, it formed intricate designs that pulsed then calmed then faded into nothingness. That was all it took for them to become one in marriage and magic.

“Oh, how lovely,” Mum had said, wiping the tears pooling at the corners of her eye as she watched the magic settle. “I’m so happy for them.”

Mum wasn’t the only one who’d been brought to tears by the ceremony. Dad, Hermione, Draco, Aunt Andromeda, and Aunt Narcissa were all trying to hide their joyous tears as well. Ursa had been mesmerized by the display, as had Hydrus, while Tonks had watched on with a wistful expression—almost as though she was hoping she might soon find her special someone. There wasn’t a single person in attendance who hadn’t been affected in some way.

As soon as the ceremony ended and the magic had settled, Sirius ruined the highly emotional moment by announcing: “Let’s get this party started!”

And get the party started, they did. Mum and Sirius had been in charge of the music, and, to absolutely no one’s surprise, it was almost all muggle rock. Sirius had developed a taste for muggle music in his teens thanks to Lilly Evans-Potter introducing it to him. Mum, on the other hand, had only just discovered her love for it during her stay at Grimmauld Place. The music they’d picked had been loud and bold and full of electric guitars, and, even though it didn’t fit the venue or the event itself, no one had expected anything less.

“If you’d told me fifteen years ago that I’d be attending Sirius Black’s wedding, I’d have laughed in your face,” Professor Prince—who was now Uncle Severus when they weren’t at Hogwarts—admitted with a chuckle as he took a sip of his drink. “If I didn’t hex you first, that is.”

Uncle Reggie threw his arm around Uncle Severus’ shoulders and laughed. “Oh, the things we do for love,” he teased.

Hydrus bit his lip to keep himself from laughing at the typically reserved couple acting so expressive. “It’s okay, Uncle Severus,” he assured his Potions professor. “I won’t tell anyone that you’ve stopped hating Sirius. I doubt they’d believe me anyway.”

“You’re right about that,” Uncle Reggie agreed. “Their animosity at Hogwarts was the stuff of legends.”

Uncle Severus pursed his lips. “The werewolf incident certainly didn’t help.”

“Werewolf incident?” Hydrus pressed, now very curious. He had a hunch it had something to do with Remus, but he was dying to hear the details.

“Shit! I almost forgot about the werewolf incident!” Sirius exclaimed. “I was a right idiot back then!”

Sirius’ loud voice captured the attendance of nearly everyone in attendance. Hermione quietly wove through the crowd gathering around him to stand by Hydrus’ side.

“Pray tell,” Father drawled, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What exactly is the werewolf incident you speak of?”

“So…” Sirius began, trying and failing to look serious. “As most of you know, I have the impulse control of a gnat.” That earned him a few chuckles. “And, well, in my sixth year, I became convinced—wholly and utterly convinced—that Severus was Remus’ mate. I mean, the two were on friendly terms and Remus would tell off James and I whenever we tried to go over Severus over anything. Plus, they were the only two gay men I knew, or at least the only two I knew about at the time, so it all just made sense to me.

“Mind you, I was pissed about the whole thing for reasons I didn’t then understand. Looking back, it’s so obvious that I was insanely jealous.” Sirius shook his head, mentally berating himself for being so dense. “Anyway, I was convinced Severus was it for Remus, and, even though I couldn’t stand him, I was going to try and set them up anyway. I’d read up a good deal on werewolves and knew they were incapable of attacking their mates even when transformed, so I thought it would be a grand romantic gesture to suggest Severus check out the Shrieking Shack after dark during a full moon. Remus would get ot have a calm transformation, and Severus would be forced to see the true depths of their bond. It was all perfect in my young, idiot brain.”

Hydrus sucked in a shaky breath. Beside him, Hermione gasped. They both had a feeling where this was going…

“I honestly have no idea why, but for the first time in all the years we’d known each other, Severus actually decided to listen to me,” Sirius said darkly. “I was feeling torn up about it because I hadn’t yet realized I fancied Remus but I wanted him to be happy—even if it was with someone I’d despised. I spent about twenty minutes anxiously pacing the Gryffindor common room before James finally asked what the hell my problem was. When I told him, well, he called me an absolute moron and went out to rescue Severus from Remus’ wolf. It wasn’t until after all that happened that it was pointed out to be me by pretty much everyone that _I_ was Remus’ mate.”

A long, tense silence fell over everyone. Hydrus almost couldn’t believe how stupid Sirius had been. Almost. No wonder Uncle Severus had been so averse to having Sirius around at first. He probably spent all this time thinking Sirius tried to feed him to a werewolf on purpose. It must have been terrifying!

“All these years,” Uncle Reggie bellowed, trying to contain his laughter, “I thought you tried to have Severus killed because you knew I fancied him and didn’t want me to date him!”

The tight, tense grip of silence broke with Uncle Reggie’s words. Hydrus felt like he could breathe again, and, judging by the nervous laughter coming from several people, he wasn’t the only one.

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, your incessant yelling about exactly that _did_ manage to clue me in, you know.”

“You fancied me back then?” Uncle Severus asked Uncle Reggie, sounding surprised. His eyes had gone wide and his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline.

Uncle Reggie tilted his head, confused. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I had no idea.”

“For such a smart man, you can be so oblivious sometimes,” Uncle Reggie replied, shaking his head. “You must’ve been the only person in Slytherin house that didn’t know.”

“That includes those of us who had already graduated,” Aunt Narcissa teased.

“Quite a few of the Ravenclaws knew as well,” added Uncle Rabstan.

Uncle Rabastan was far from the last person to admit knowing about Uncle Reggie’s crush on Uncle Severus for years before the two got together. From what Hydrus gathered, Uncle Reggie hadn’t been at all subtle, always following Uncle Severus around and complimenting him and getting jealous whenever others would flirt with him. By the end of Uncle Severus’ seventh year, the whole of Hogwarts had been in the know—all except for him.

Try as he might to maintain his usual stoic expression, there was no denying Uncle Severus’ slightly embarrassed sense of shock. A pink flush had colored his cheeks, and he was having a hard time looking anyone in the eye. And whenever someone _did_ manage to catch his gaze, he returned the most ineffective glare Hydrus had ever seen from the Potions master.

“So…” Remus drawled, turning his attention to Uncle Severus. “Why did you listen to Sirius and investigate the Shrieking Shack anyway? Surely you must’ve known it was a bad idea.”

Uncle Severus frowned. “Because I rightly suspected your group of friends to be unregistered animagi, and for some idiotic reason, thought Sirius’ suggestion was a goodwill gesture to let me in on the process to become one.”

“As if I’d ever have considered anything remotely resembling a goodwill gesture back then, especially not if you were involved!” Sirius exclaimed, scandalized. “I was way too much of a jackass for that.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” Uncle Severus retorted. “But even I couldn’t have guessed you’d try to feed me to a werewolf.”

“I wasn’t trying to feed you to a werewolf! I was trying to be a good wingman! I thought you were Remus’ mate!”

Uncle Severus stared at Sirius as if he were making absolutely no sense. “How was I supposed to know that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Neither does me letting you learn to be an animagus with us!” Sirius shot back.

Remus let out an amused huff. “He does have a point there, Severus.”

Uncle Severus opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a loud _bang!_ coming from the back door.

Hydrus turned on his heels to see a too thin, half delirious man leaning against the doorway like it was the only thing keeping him from falling. His mousy brown hair was sticking up every which way and his eyes were wide with a desperate sort of panic that made Hydrus step back in fear. Whoever this man was, something was very, very wrong with him.

“Barty?”

Uncle Rabastan’s voice sounded strained and just a bit terrified as he called out the man’s name. An aura of concern emanated from his uncle, which only made Hydrus more wary of this stranger. What could possibly affect Uncle Rabastan this strongly after more than a decade in Azkaban?

“No!” Mum breathed. Her hands were shaking something fierce. “It can’t be! You died!”

The man—Barty—staggered forward. “Please!” he begged. “You’ve got to help me!”

With a sharp intake of air, Barty took a shaky step forward and, without anything to support him, collapsed.


	4. The Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what in the world happened to barty crouch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadly i still don't own hp

Grimmauld Place went into lockdown after the arrival of the stranger that Uncle Rabastan had called Barty. Madame Bones called Aurors Dawlish and and Shacklebolt to get things cordoned off as the wedding was now a crime scene. No one was entirely sure what crime had been committed, but it must have been something severe for a supposedly dead man to return nearly a decade after being buried on the ground of Azkaban.

From what Hydrus heard, the stranger’s full name was Bartemius Crouch Junior and he had wrongfully imprisoned with the Lestranges for the attack on the Longbottoms. Azkaban had affected him terribly, and, as far as anyone knew, he had died there barely a year into his sentence. Everyone in their cell block had mourned the young man, who had been barely twenty-one when he supposedly died. Those who knew of his innocence had been particularly distraught, feeling that he’d never get justice from beyond the grave.

Barty Crouch Junior had been posthumously declared innocent and his record had been wiped clean in the wake of the Longbottoms’ recovery. An investigation had also been launched into his father, who had been the one to throw him into jail without any reliable evidence in the first place. As of yet, no one was sure if Crouch Senior’s actions were in any way tied to the greater web of crime and lies perpetrated by the disgraced Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps now, with this new evidence of young Barty’s survival, there was a chance to find out.

“I’m telling you—he’s not strong enough for an interrogation right now,” Uncle Rabstan said harshly. “Let him rest for a little while longer at least.”

As important as Hydrus knew the questions the Aurors wanted to ask were, he couldn’t help but agree with his uncle. Barty had been pale and shaky ever since he passed out in the gardens. He didn’t look like he could withstand a strong breeze, let alone a full interview with law enforcement.

Barty had been levitated to one of the spare bedrooms on the main floor, and had been struggling to remain conscious ever since. Aunt Narcissa had performed a health scan which showed that, while technically not undernourished, he was severely underweight. His blood pressure was unusually low, his rate a bit too fast, and his muscles were nearly at the point of atrophy. Wherever he’d been and whatever he’d gone through before arriving today, it hadn’t been good.

“It won’t be an interrogation,” Auror Dawlish insisted, “just a few questions to find out what happened to him.”

Uncle Rabastan gave Auror Dawlish an unimpressed look. “And you expect me to think it’ll stay that way even if his answers turn out to be something you don’t like?”

Hydrus had to give his uncle credit. It was clear the man had a solid understanding of the DMLE’s true nature. What’s more, he wasn’t afraid to let them know he did. He showed no signs at all that he might back down.

“That’s—” Auror Dawlish spluttered, not having expected to be so thoroughly called out. “I mean, it isn’t going to be like that. We just need to get his story so we can figure out what the hell happened and who lies in is grave.”

Uncle Rabastan geared up to continue arguing, but Tonks placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Uncle Rab,” she said calmly. “They’re not going to treat him like a suspect. Anyone with eyes can see Crouch is the victim here.”

“She’s right,” Auror Shacklebolt told him. “Something’s obviously happened to Crouch if his appearance and health are anything to go by, and we want to know who’s responsible.”

“I… okay,” Uncle Rabatsan conceded. “I believe you.”

Auror Dawlish gave a terse nod. “In that case, everyone ought to clear out so we can get his statement.”

“No,” Barty declared in an unsteady voice. “We might as well do this with everyone here. I don’t want to repeat myself more than necessary.”

Hydrus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. It had been excruciating for him when he’d had to talk to the Aurors about his abuse at Privet Drive, and there had only been two people there. He couldn’t imagine sharing something that personal with an audience as large as the one gathered around Barty’s bedside.

“All right then,” Madame Bones said. “I suppose we should start with the basics. Are you aware that your sentence has been overturned and you’re now a free man?”

Barty nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I heard my father talking about it.” A shudder shot through his bony shoulders. “He was quite furious, actually.”

“Your father?” Auror Dawlish repeated. “You’ve been in contact with him?”

“That’s a generous way to describe it, but yes,” Barty admitted. “I’ve been a prisoner in his house ever since he and my mother broke me out of Azkaban.”

Gasps filled the room, Hydrus’ among them. Azkaban was supposed to be impossible to break out of—even with the help of others. Obviously he’d had to get out of there somehow, but it was still a shock to hear him confirm that the prison wasn’t as impenetrable as previously believed. 

“But how—”

“It shouldn’t be—”

“I never even realized—”

“Silence, all of you!” Uncle Rabastan scolded everyone. “You won’t be able to get any answers if you overwhelm him like that.”

“Mr. Lestrange has a point,” Auror Shacklebolt conceded.

Madame Bones hummed in agreement. “That he does. Mr. Crouch, why don’t you start from the beginning? If needed, I can silence anyone who interrupts you.”

“I… alright,” Barty agreed. He ducked his head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and told his story. _“My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother’s hairs. She took a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.”_

The look of alarm on the Aurors’ faces—including his cousin Tonks—told Hydrus that, whatever they’d been expecting to hear from Barty, it certainly wasn’t that.

“My mother suffered from the Greengrass family blood curse,” Barty continued, staring down at his hands. “It had already started taking its toll on her before I was even incarcerated, and, by the time she and my father came to visit, it was clear she wasn’t much longer for this world. Her condition was terminal, but mine wasn’t. With a bit of time and some better food, I could have made a full recovery. And so, she’d decided to give up the last few moths of her life in exchange for mine.”

Barty exhaled shakily. _“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors._

_“My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.”_

Barty buried his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake. Hydrus was certain that, if he could see Barty’s face, he’d find it streaked with tears.

Hydrus couldn’t even begin to imagine the emotional toll all of this had taken on Barty. Through no plot of his own, he’d inadvertently condemned his mother to die alone in Azkaban, surrounded by criminals and dementors and an unending chill that seeped into one’s bones. Did he blame himself for the actions of his parents? Did he worry his mother blamed him? Had he even been given a chance to properly grieve?

Based on the silent sobs that wracked through Barty’s gaunt frame, it was all too clear that he hadn’t. How could he have? The man still looked worse for wear nearly a decade later. What opportunity could he have possibly had for mourning and closure in whatever hiding place he’d been spirited away to?

“Dawlish, make a note that we need to exhume Mrs. Crouch so that she can receive a proper burial,” Madame Bones commanded.

Auror Dawlish nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Thank… thank you,” Barty told them between sobs. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Uncle Rabastan patted Barty on the hand while Madame Bones explained, “It’s the least we can do.”

“Right, yeah,” Barty quietly agreed.

Madame Bones gave him a kind smile. “We can take a break if you’d like.”

“No,” Barty said a little too quickly. “I need to do this.” The ‘before I lose my nerve’ was left silent.

“It doesn’t have to be all at once,” Uncle Rabstan assured him.

“Well, that’s the way I’m doing it.”

Surprised by the flicker of defiance in Barty’s eyes, Uncle Rabastan backed off.

“Now, where was I?” Barty licked his lips, lost in thought for a moment. “Oh, right. Shortly after he brought me home, my father staged a death and funeral for my mother so he could explain her sudden absence. He told people that seeing me in Azkaban was what pushed her over the edge.” A short, humorless laugh escaped his throat. “In a way, he was right.”

“It’s not your fault,” several people said at once.

Barty shrugged. “Isn’t it? She died alone in that awful place because of me.”

“She didn’t die alone, not completely,” Sirius told him, surprising everyone. “Your cell was the one next to mine, remember? I didn’t it was her, of course, but when she was dying, I reached out. I held her hand through the worst of it, right up through the moment her hand went limp in mine. I know it’s not much, but—”

“It’s everything to me,” Barty insisted, sobs beginning anew. “Thank you.”

Sirius, suddenly looking terribly uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting, gave him an awkward smile.

“Anyway,” Barty continued, pushing through his sniffling, “my father regretted letting my mother take my place immediately. He couldn’t even stand to look at me. My recovery was overseen entirely by our house elf Winky. I saw no one but her for months, bedridden as I was.

“Recovering only made things worse. Once it became clear that I wasn’t about to keel over at any moment, my father became obsessed with finding a way to keep me under his absolute control. He was convinced I would run away and get him trouble, or worse, that I’d try and find the Dark Lord. It didn’t matter how unethical the methods were; he tried everything and anything he could find. And then one day, he finally succeeded, and it was so thorough that I didn’t even notice it had happened.”

“How?” Auror Shacklebolt asked gently.

_“The Imperius Curse,” Barty said. “I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behavior._

“It worked for a little while, Winky convincing my father to give me some freedoms,” Barty continued, his whole body beginning to tremble. “But that was back when I was entirely lost to the Imperius Curse. A couple of years ago, I started gaining a bit of awareness. I tried to leave the room I was locked in. I just wanted to go to the kitchen. I was starving.” He sucked in a gusty breath. “My father found out and, well, I can’t fully remember. I just know that from then on, I had to lie in bed silent and unmoving. As susceptible to the Imperius Curse as I am, I readily followed that command.”

Hydrus felt like he was going to vomit. For all that he was told to stay silent and pretend he didn’t exist with the Dursleys, it had never been forced upon him in such an absolute way. The idea that someone could do that to another person—to a member of their own family—horrified him. For all his shakiness and physical weakness, Barty was incredibly strong to survive a life like that.

“If he had you under that level of control, how’d you manage to escape?” Auror Dawlish asked. “Unless he had a change of heart and freed you?”

Barty gave a derisive snort. “No, it certainly wasn’t a change of heart. After the news broke that the Lestranges and I never attacked the Longbottoms, he became more paranoid than ever. It was… terrifying. It was as if the very idea that we were innocent was somehow repulsive to him. I think, deep down, he still believed we deserved imprisonment.”

“Then how?” Auror Dawlish pressed again. 

“He got sloppy in his paranoia,” Barty explained. “I was getting more and more lucid, but he was too focused on not getting in trouble with the Ministry that he barely noticed. It took ages, but I got better at resisting the curse. I started with little things, trying to move my hands and saying simple phrases. About an hour ago, I fought off the Imperius Curse completely.”

Sirius whistled, impressed. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Barty,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s supposed to take some serious mind magic to get out of the Imperius Curse on your own.”

“Or for your will to be stronger than the person who cast the curse,” Barty countered, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Barty’s response gave Hydrus hope that, if something like that ever happened to him, he might have a fighting chance of escaping like Barty had. It sounded nearly impossible to do, but here was living proof that one of the supposedly unblockable Unforgivable Curses could be beaten. He was finding himself more and more in awe of this almost stranger with each passing moment.

Hydrus and the rest of the young people were made to leave the room shortly after the conclusion of Barty’s story so that the adults—and, in particular, the DMLE—could work a plan. Barty couldn’t exactly return home until his father was behind bars, after all, and likely wouldn't ever want to return to the house in which he’d spent so many years imprisoned. There was also the issue of what crimes they would be charging Crouch Senior with. Use of the Imperius Curse was the most obvious and came with the highest sentence, but Hydrus had a feeling that the true list of charges would be a mile long.

“Good to know that the man who put our family in Azkaban without evidence is an all-around psychopath,” Hermione muttered bitterly as the young people made their way to the living room.

Draco nodded, looking a bit pale. “What kind of monster does that to their own kid? I mean, honestly. A decade under the Imperius Curse? That’s just vile.”

“I hope he ends up in the same cellblock as my parents,” Dade said with a slight shudder, surprising everyone else in the room. While it was no secret that he thought his parents deserved Azkaban, it was rare that he ever commented on it.

“Me too, if only so the three of them can shout at each other day in and day out,” Hydrus easily agreed. Crouch Senior deserved the worst of the worst.

The Dursleys had ended up in the most heavily guarded cellblock in Azkaban, one that had received major security reinforcements after it was designated as a Death Eater block. Only those guilty of murder and torture and treasonous activity were sent up there. And, because of the wizarding world’s believe that children were sacred, child abusers were thought to be at least as evil as the worst of the Death Eaters.

None of the adults ever went into detail, but Hydrus was aware of the fact that Mum, Dad, Uncle Rabastan, and Sirius had all tormented the Dursleys while they were locked up in Azkaban together. Even though they’d all been cleared of any wrongdoing and were no longer in the prison, they weren’t subtle about the fact that the remaining Death Eaters were equally as passionate in their hatred of the Dursleys. Sentencing Barty Crouch Senior to the same fate—especially since his son had been well liked among the Death Eaters still in Azkaban—seemed perfectly fitting.

*****

Two weeks later, and Barty had settled into his new room at Grimmauld Place fairly well. At first, the young man had nearly broken upon hearing Sirius’ offer to stay, endlessly thanking Sirius for his generosity—no matter how much Sirius insisted that it wasn’t that big a deal. “After all”, he’d told him, “us wrongfully convicted ex-prisoners need to stick together.” Barty had chuckled humorlessly at Sirius’ declaration, but the constant need to thank him for his kindness eventually tapered off.

He spent most of his free time with Rabastan, much like he had during his Hogwarts days. The two had been close friends from the moment they first met on the Hogwarts Express, and had been inseparable all the way up until Azkaban. After a decade of being apart, the two former Ravenclaws had quite a lot to tell one another. 

Barty also delighted in getting to know the Dark Lord’s children and nephew. They were such wonderfully bright little things with such diverse interests that allowed them to have a fairly decent base understanding of most of what the magical world had to offer. He was especially fond of young Hermione—the only Ravenclaw of the bunch—as her overly analytical mind, blunt manner of speaking, and slight bloodthirsty streak was all to reminiscent of both Rodolphus and Rabastan at that age.

It was strange just how easily Barty was adjusting. He’d always been incredibly awkward around other people, especially if they were his age or older due to his father’s constant reminders that everyone else was somehow superior to him. The Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix were the exceptions, though he’d always suspected that it had something to do with their ability to dominate any conversation they were a part of. He could just sit back and listen and be a part of things. Luckily, it seemed that just about everyone in Bellatrix’s extended family had the same effect.

And so, when he sat down at the breakfast table and was met with Hydrus’ comfortable silence and Hermione’s long-winded explanation of a book she’d stayed up half the night reading, Barty found himself entirely at ease. He’d already grown accustomed to this new breakfast routine of theirs. Hydrus was always quiet, Hermione always talked, and Barty always read the newspaper while drinking a cup of coffee with fancy flavored creamers that Sirius bought at a muggle store.

Reaching across the table to try Sirius’ latest favorite flavor—something called caramel macchiato—Barty glanced down at the unfolded newspaper left in front of his usual seat to see—

**CROUCH SR. KISSED FOR FALSE IMPRISONMENT, USE OF UNFORGIVABLES**

Barty’s went comically wide when he spotted this morning’s _Daily Prophet_ headline. He’d been promised by Madame Bones that his testimony and memories had been enough, and that he wouldn’t have to face his father in court, some part of him had never truly internalized that his father would be punished for what he’d done. So many years of his father having absolute control and doing whatever he pleased had made Barty fear that justice simply wouldn’t be possible in his case. He’d never been so happy to be wrong.

And to be Kissed? Kissed! Even Sirius Black hadn’t received the Dementor’s Kiss back when people thought he’d betrayed the Potters and committed mass murder. Barty could hardly believe it that his father would be Kissed for his crimes. It was almost too good to be true.

“Wow,” said Hydrus as he skimmed through the article, whistling lowly. “I think this must be the quickest a loose end has ever been wrapped up in my entire life.”

Barty snorted, amused. The boy was right. Justice, for perhaps the first time in the history of the wizarding world, had been swift and fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally a problem that won't be a multi chapter saga


	5. Dementors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hydrus and friends encounter a dementor on the train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i still don't own hp somehow? jk, give me the fucking rights to it already!  
> 2\. sorry for yet another long-ass delay. this is not the year for working in healthcare analytics...  
> 3\. italics are yoinked from the book

The rest of the summer passed without any other major incidents, save for Mum and Sirius being chased out of the kitchen by Kreacher after a disastrous attempt to bake that resulted in a small fire. It was a good thing that Kreacher had insisted on supervising anyone who tried to use his kitchen, or else the fire could have caused far more damage. Still, even a fire was calm in comparison to the long dead wedding crasher and resulting swarm of Aurors that had hijacked Sirius and Remus’ reception.

By the time September first came around, Hydrus was both ready to go back to school and reluctant to leave his family behind. He couldn’t wait to see his friends and start his coursework—especially for his new electives of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He just wished he didn’t have to leave his family and summer lessons behind. Sure, his father, Remus, and Uncle Severus would be at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t quite the same.

“I’ll miss you both so much while you’re at school!” Mum whined as she wrapped her arms around Hydrus and Hermione and pulled them into a bone-crushing hug. “Be sure to write often!”

“We will,” Hermione assured her.

“Definitely,” Hydrus agreed.

“And do try to get into all sorts of mischief just like you have over the past two years,” Dad said with a wry grin. “I’d hate for the two of you to stop going on adventures just because you’re worried about what your parents might think.”

Mum nodded in agreement. “He’s right. We didn’t train you in self-defense all summer just so you could get boring on us.”

Hydrus nearly laughed at his parents’ comments. Any other parents, he was sure, would never encourage their kids to cause mischief and get into trouble. Luckily for him, his parents weren’t like any others.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to keep anything from us either,” Mum continued, her voice laced with warning. “We have several spies in the school, as you well know.”

“Spies?” Hermione repeated with a chuckle. “You mean Father and our uncles?”

“Yes, exactly.”

The Lestrange family wrapped up their goodbyes and helped the twins get their luggage on the train, a process that was peppered with wistful comments from their mother about how she’d always wanted to have children she could see off to Hogwarts. Even though they were going into their third year, she’d decided to make just as big a deal of it as she would have for their first year had she not been locked in Azkaban for it. It was overly emotional terribly over-the-top, but Hydrus couldn’t imagine anything less from his mother.

Eventually, Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa managed to corral Hydrus and Hermione’s parents and get them to leave the platform with at least some of their dignity still intact. Uncle Lucius looked as though merely standing beside someone who was showing so much emotion in public would somehow ruin his own prideful, dignified reputation, and had kept Mum and Dad both at arm’s length in case the sentimentality might spread to him. Aunt Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed far more understanding.

The twins were joined by Neville, and then by Ron—who had arrived so close to the departure time that he’d nearly missed the train. He went through the whole saga about how there were three false starts where they’d managed to get halfway down the road before one of the Weasleys realized they’d forgotten something at home before Mrs. Weasley finally put her foot down and said she could send anything else they’d forgotten through the owl post. Fred and George had also done something to Percy’s shiny, new Head Boy badge during the trip, and his father nearly had to stop the car because of all the fighting in the back seats was making it hard to focus on the road. All in all, it sounded like quite the hectic trip.

“Why didn’t you make a checklist for all the things you needed to pack?” Hermione had asked at least twice, earning her multiple eye rolls from Ron. Apparently he didn’t think he needed to get that organized about it, though Hermione quite vocally disagreed.

Their bickering over the potential merits of pre-planning and checklists was mercifully cut short when Neville started telling Hydrus about the toad-speak potion he and his mother had successfully brewed over the summer. Neither Ron nor Hermione wanted to miss a single detail about all the things Neville had learned from talking to Trevor.

“It turns out Trevor’s from a breed of magical toads that are known for collecting seeds and plant cuttings,” Neville told them excitedly, allowing Trevor to sit on his shoulder without any sign that he was worried the toad might make a break for it. “Apparently, all the times he’s run away have been because he’s trying to find things for my future gardens. We’ve had a chat about it, and he’s decided to be more careful in the future about when and where he does his foraging.”

“I wish Iris had a cool use like that,” Hydrus said dramatically, earning a hiss from the conceited snake curled up in his robe pocket. “Unfortunately, all she does is beg for compliments.”

_~I don’t beg for anything!~_ came Iris’ muffled dissent.

Hermione snorted. _~Sure you don’t.~_ “I wonder if Crookshanks has any special skills I ought to know about,” she continued in English.

Crookshanks was Hermione’s kneazle from hell. He was a massive, orange blob with a squished face and standoffish personality. The only people he genuinely liked were Hermione, Mum, and, for some strange reason, Sirius. Everyone else was either tolerated or treated with outright disdain.

“Where is that fat little devil anyway?” Ron asked, his eyes darting around the compartment as if he worried Crookshanks might materialize out of nowhere and attack him.

“He’s not a devil, Ronald,” Hermione said with a frown. “And Father agreed to floo to Hogwarts with him so that Crookshanks wouldn’t have to suffer through such a long train ride.”

“More like so we wouldn’t have to suffer putting up that beast for hours on end.”

Hydrus agreed with Ron, but he was smart enough not to say that out loud. Crookshanks could be a vicious thing when cornered or otherwise trapped, and there was no doubt the furball would see being locked in a train compartment tantamount to being held prisoner. Then again, Hermione was the same way.

“Honestly, Ron—”

Whatever Hermione was about to say was drowned out by the screeching sound of metal scraping against metal. The train began to slow at unusually rapid pace, almost as if the conductor had slammed on the brakes with the full force of his body weight.

“We can’t already be there,” Neville said, though his tone bordered on questioning. “There should be at least another hour.”

Hermione checked her watch. “Another hour and thirty-two minutes to be precise. Although, I suppose it’ll be quite a bit longer now seeing as we’ve slowed down.”

_The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness._

“A power outage?” Hydrus guessed, doubtful but hoping that was all it was.

“The Hogwarts Express runs on magic, not fuel or electricity like muggle transportation,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “A power outage therefore wouldn’t be possible.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” muttered Ron.

Hermione huffed. “Me neither, but that’s just what it is unfortunately.”

“I know this is probably a bad time to ask, but what’s electricity?” Neville hesitantly inquired.

Hydrus’ brow furrowed as he tried to think of a decent explanation. “It’s… well… it’s kind of like artificial lightning, I guess. Muggles harness it to make lights and… technology work.”

“Oh. How strange…”

“I think I’ll look around and see what’s going on,” Hydrus decided before the group could fall into an awkward silence. “There might be a professor out there who can explain.”

With Dumbledore still at large, both the Ministry and Hogwarts professors were taking extra security measures on the chance that he might try and attack the school or its students. There had been several attempts over the summer to break through the wards protecting Hogwarts, and, while no culprit had been identified, it was widely suspected that the former headmaster had been the one behind it. No one really knew what his goals were with the castle—especially since it wouldn’t magically make him headmaster again what with the murder charges against him—but the school needed to be protected nonetheless.

One of the many precautions being taken this year was the continuation from last year of having both professors and Aurors on the Hogwarts Express. Professors Sinistra, Flitwick, and Lupin-Black—who had agreed to let students shorten his last name to just Lupin—were all on the train, as well as Aurors Shacklebolt and Robards.

“Good plan,” Ron decided. “And who knows? Maybe this is some security checkpoint just to make sure there aren’t any stowaways or something.”

Hydrus got up and fumbled his way over to the compartment door. Groping around for the handle, he opened it slightly to see the shadowy outline of students peering from every other compartment door. It appeared that everyone was just as confused and concerned as him.

_”What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice from behind Hydrus._

_”Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”_

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Hydrus admitted as he blindly made his way back to his seat. “It was too dark, and I didn’t hear anyone walking our way.”

“Should we check the window then?” Neville suggested. “There could be something going on outside that’s caused us to stop.” Inhaling sharply, he added: “Oh, I hope we haven’t hit something.”

“I’ll check!” Ron volunteered. There was a bit of shuffling from the other side of the compartment, and then: _”There’s something moving out there,” he said. “I think people are coming aboard…”_

“People are boarding the train?” Hermione asked skeptically. “But how? There aren’t any stops between King’s Cross and Hogsmeade… unless… well, you don’t think it’s a train robber or something, do you?”

Hydrus—despite feeling just as worried as Ron sounded—snorted at his sister’s suggestion. “Train robber? This isn’t the American Wild West.”

“You never know,” Hermione sniffed.

“I was under the impression that you always know,” Hydrus teased.

Hermione muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like she was wishing she had been an only child.

Suddenly the door slid open, and everyone jumped, startled by the intruder.

“Who is it?” Neville asked awkwardly.

“Who are _you_?” the intruder inquired in a familiar voice.

_”Ginny?”_ Hermione called out.

_”Hermione?”_

_”What are you doing?”_

_”I was looking for Ron—”_

_”Come in and sit down—”_

_”Not here!” said Hydrus hurriedly. “ **I’m** here!”_

__”Ouch!” said Neville._ _

__”Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly._ _

Hydrus could have cried in relief. Remus had found them. He was sure to know what was going on. Better yet, he’d be able to keep them safe if something dangerous was indeed out there like Ron suspected.

“What’s—”

Remus shushed him. “Not now,” he whispered. He turned to shut the door behind him—

But it was too late. A cold, shadowy presence had joined them. __Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Hydrus’ eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water…__

__But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sense Hydrus’ gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak._ _

This was a dementor, Hydrus realized. His parents hadn’t liked talking about the dementors of Azkaban, but he and Hermione had done a bit of research along with Dade so that they could better understand why all the adults they knew were petrified by the mere mention of the creatures. And now, only a foot away from one, Hydrus finally understood their fear.

An icy chill permeated the air and frost formed on the windows as the dementor forced its way through the compartment door. Hydrus shivered the late summer heat outside and his full-length school robes that left no inch of skin unprotected. It was an awful, unnatural chill that sunk deep into his bones.

And then the dread began. It twisted Hydrus’ stomach in knots and constricted around his ribcage, making it impossible to breathe. Cold and darkness consumed him, pulling him under. He was drowning. He was dying.

“Freak!” shouted a distorted voice.

All of a sudden, someone was shaking him. “Hydrus! Hydrus, wake up!”

__Hydrus opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking—the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat and onto the floor. Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and Remus watching._ They all wore concerned expressions, as if they were worried he was about to have a repeat of whatever had just occurred._

“You good to sit up?” Ron asked nervously.

Hydrus shrugged. “Might as well try.”

With a bit of help from Ron and Hermione, Hydrus returned to his seat. He still felt a bit dizzy, though, and brought his knees up to his chest to try and reduce the spinning sensation.

“I suddenly understand our parents so much better,” Hermione admitted quietly.

Glancing over at his sister, Hydrus saw that, while she hadn’t gone as pale as Neville and Ginny, she had a faraway look in her eyes and her hands were shaking terribly.

“You’re not…” Ron began nervously, gulping on air, “are you suggesting that thing was a dementor?”

Hermione nodded. “It fit the description I read exactly.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “And we let those around people? That’s horrific! No wonder there’s been so many petitions to have them removed from Azkaban. Not even the worst criminals deserve that.”

“I quite agree,” Remus said. He pulled two chocolate bars out of his robe pocket and began breaking them into pieces and putting those pieces into everyone’s hands. “Muggles reformed their prisons and banned torture decades ago. It’s well past time we wizards do the same.”

Hydrus agreed. Muggle prisons might not be nice places, but at least they didn’t inflict dementors on everyone. Besides, he knew full well just how many mistakes the wizarding justice system was capable of making. Who knew how many innocents had been subjected to the horrors of the dementors?

“Do you have any idea why it seemed to target me specifically?” Hydrus asked.

Remus let out a gusty sigh. “Dementors feed on negative memories and emotions. Fear, in particular, is a powerful source of food for their kind. The more memories a person has of being upset or angry or frightened, the more strongly they feel the effects of a dementor’s feeding.” Smiling sadly, he admitted: “I suspect the dementor sensed the memories of your… I suppose I should call them previous guardians, even despite their piss poor job of it… and thought it would make a filling meal.”

Hydrus felt sick to his stomach. No wonder he thought he’d heard Uncle Vernon shouting at him. The dementors must have wanted anything and everything to do with that monster of a man.

Remus opened the compartment door and began to make his exit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Daedalus as well, as I’m sure you can understand.”

Hydrus understood completely. He’d long since realized that the Dursleys had abused their son, even if that abuse was far different from what they’d done to him.

“I do hope Dade’s okay,” Ginny said, sounding strangely guilty. “Colin, too. I didn’t even think about how my friends might end up being effected when I ran off to find Ron. And Colin, well, he was so excited last year about meeting the famous Gilderoy Lockhart… and you all know how that turned out for him. The dementor probably loved that.”

Ron put a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Gin. And even if he isn’t, Professor Lupin’s sure to have chocolate to give him to help him feel better.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ginny agreed without any indication in her voice that Ron’s words had made her feel better.

Ron grinned. “Of course I am! Now let’s eat this chocolate. If anyone doesn’t want theirs, I’d be more than happy to take your piece.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ginny groaned. Even in times of distress, Ron still put his appetite first.

*****

By the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade, Hydrus and his friends were feeling much better. Hydrus still felt a bit weak and clammy, but he no longer worried that he might faint for a second time. He was sure he just needed a good meal and a full night’s rest to get back to normal.

Ginny had left their compartment and returned to her friends once she was back to feeling steady on her feet. Ron had offered to help her walk down to her friends’ compartment, but Ginny got quite angry with him and insisted she was perfectly capable of walking on her own. She then proceeded to tell him off for coddling her—all while holding onto the door for support.

“You lot okay?” Hagrid called out when he spotted the group making their way toward the carriages. “I heard there was a run-in with a dementor on the way. Professor Lupin mentioned a few kids had a pretty rough time of it.”

Hydrus cringed. It was nice of Hagrid to ask, but he wished he hadn’t done it in front of so many people. There was no way he could admit to fainting in front of the whole school.

Luckily, Hermione noticed his unease and answered for him. “We’ll be fine after a bit to eat,” she assured him. “And maybe some hot chocolate.”

Hagrid beamed at them and wished them all well before corralling the first years onto the boats. The children looked somehow smaller and more nervous than Hydrus ever remembered being at that age, despite him having been the shortest of the boys during his first year. Perhaps it was simply the effect of having Hagrid looming over them with his massive size that made the eleven year olds look so tiny.

_As the carriage trundled toward a magnificent pair of wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Hydrus saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out._

As Hydrus followed them toward the entrance, he heard an accusatory voice approach him from behind.

“Neville told me you fainted.”

Draco had the same scrunched up expression Aunt Narcissa did when she was about to chastise one of her children for uncouth behavior. It was as though the mere concept of Hydrus fainting had upset his delicate sensibilities.

“Well…” Draco drawled. “Did you?”

“Mr. Malfoy, please stop acting like a mother hen and allow your cousin into the building,” Remus said, stepping into professor mode. “He needs to visit the Hospital Wing.”

“So you did faint!” Draco accused. He turned to Remus and demanded: “I’ll escort him to the Hospital Wing. I doubt he’ll actually go without someone forcing him to.”

Remus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine, you may go with me while I escort Mr. Lestrange.”

“Acceptable.”

Hydrus wanted to complain, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He knew there was no point in trying to argue with an overprotective werewolf and Draco when the borderline possessive Black family bond started to shine through.

The journey to the Hospital Wing felt more like he was being dragged to a teacher’s office for misbehavior than a health check. Draco kept chattering on about how Hydrus needed to take better care of himself, and how he better not argue with whatever treatment Madame Pomfrey recommended. Remus just watched on, amused and powerless to stop Draco’s dramatics.

“And your father will be hearing about this,” Draco finished, “as well as mine.”

Hydrus grimaced. He didn’t understand why Draco was making such a big deal of his fainting, and he certainly didn’t think it warranted telling anyone’s father. It wasn’t like he’d sustained any injuries. Besides, the chocolate Remus had given him had helped considerably.

“Another one with a poor reaction to the dementors?” Madame Pomfrey asked when she spotted the trio. “Mr. Lestrange, I’m assuming?” Not bothering to wait for anyone to respond, she instructed: “Why don’t you sit down on the bed to the far left? I’ll be over in a jiffy.”

As Hydrus made his way over to the bed, he passed a startling number of students suffering from varying degrees of dizziness, nausea, and semi-consciousness. At least half the infirmary beds were occupied by some poor soul who had a severe reaction to the dementors. And, by the sounds coming from near the door, more patients were on their way.

One of the newcomers caught Hydrus’ attention. His cousin Daedalus Gaunt had just staggered toward the bed next to him and collapsed. He looked worse than Hydrus had ever seen him—save for the time he’d spent in a magically induced coma when they were eleven. His skin was pale and clammy, and every inch of sturdy frame was trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Hydrus said in a slightly lackluster attempt to lighten the mood.

Dade chuckled, though it fell a bit flat from his exhaustion. “Well, I heard you were here and decided I just _had_ to visit.”

“Dementors?”

“Dementors,” Dade confirmed. “Those monstrosities shouldn’t be allowed near people.”

Hydrus gave a noncommittal hum. “Draco’s already threatened to tell his father and mine about it.”

“As he well should,” declared Madame Pomfrey as she made her way towards them, a determined look in her eyes. “Sending dementors to a school…” she muttered, shaking her head. “We’re barely twelve years past the war. Some of the upper years are old enough to remember going into hiding or seeing family die. It’s as if the minister doesn’t think the trauma children experience matters.”

Hydrus had never seen the medi-witch so passionate before—nor had he seen her so angry. It was as if she took personal offense to the dementors being stationed here.

“If Fudge were truly so concerned that Dumbledore might try something at the school,” Madame Pomfrey continued, taking out her wand to run diagnostic scans on Hydrus and Dade, “he should have stationed Aurors at the front gate instead. At least Aurors are somewhat capable of going after the right person. Dementors don’t make any distinction at all.”

Dade’s face went very, very green. “What if they start swarming students on the way to class?” he wondered, sounding panicked. “What if someone gets Kissed?”

Madame Pomfrey’s eyes went wide. “I think I’ll go grab you a Calming Draught, dear.”

“Don’t worry, Dade,” Hydrus told his cousin, despite feeling worried himself. “I’m sure enough complaints will be lodged to get the dementors removed from the school grounds way before something like that happens.”

In all honesty, Hydrus had no idea if the Board of Governors had any sway over Minister Fudge. It might not matter how many students complain or what the Board ended up deciding. The final decision laid with that absolute moron the wizarding world called a minister.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dade agreed, not at all sounding like he believed it.

Madame Pomfrey returned with a Calming Draught and forced it into Dade’s hand. “You best drink it all, Mr. Gaunt.” While Dade followed her instructions, the medi-witch turned to Hydrus. “Your blood sugar is still a bit low, Mr. Lestrange, but not to the point where you need to stay. Just have a piece of chocolate, and then you’ll be alright to join the Welcoming Feast.” She placed a small piece of chocolate in his hand. “Of course, if you still feel affected when you wake up tomorrow, I must insist you come back.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hydrus agreed, shoving the chocolate into his mouth. He was glad he wouldn’t have to miss the feast.

“Okay,” Dade said with a long, shaky exhale. “I feel a lot better now. Can I go to the Welcoming Feast, Madame Pomfrey?”

The medi-witch shook her head. “Unfortunately, dear, you’ll need to stay here for at least another hour or two for monitoring. But don’t worry. The elves will be bringing up plates for everyone who needs to stay.”

Dade looked disappointed, but he didn’t argue.

“We can have our own Welcoming Feast, Dade,” decided a voice that sounded like wind chimes.

Sitting three beds over was Luna Lovegood, smiling at Dade and Hydrus even while she shivered and shook. She gave a weak wave, which both boys returned.

Her words gave Hydrus an idea. “Madame Pomfrey, would it be possible for Luna to have my bed now that I’m good to go?” he asked.

Madame Pomfrey frowned, looking from Luna to the bed Hydrus occupied and then back to Luna. “I don’t see why not,” she finally conceded. “Ms. Lovegood, would you like to join your friend over here?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like that very much,” Luna easily agreed.

With a bit of help from both Hydrus and Madame Pomfrey, Luna was successfully moved to the bed beside Dade—something that cheered up both second years and assuaged Hydrus’ guilt over leaving his cousin behind in the Hospital Wing.

Hydrus slowly made his way down to the Great Hall, still feeling a bit woozy whenever he walked too fast, and took a seat between Draco and Theo. Both asked how he was doing, though Theo was far less overbearing in his line of questioning. Draco, with the help of Pansy, piled more sugary foods in front of Hydrus than he’d eaten in his entire life. Treacle fudge, chocolate cake, and a scoop of ice cream took up more of his plate than the chicken, vegetables, and potatoes that he’d planned on eating, earning him a few a skeptical glances from his father and Uncle Severus. But, even with the overly indulgent meal placed in front of him, Hydrus did indeed start feeling much more like his typical self. His friends truly knew how to make him feel better.


	6. Different Types of Divination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> divination isn't the only class at hogwarts that can show you the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i own nothing  
> 2\. fuck jk rowling just in general  
> 3\. y'all are about to learn way too much about math

The next morning, Hydrus woke up feeling both refreshed and sick of the taste of chocolate. Even the mere mention of it during breakfast made him queasy enough to worry his eggs and bacon might come back up. He supposed he must have overdone it on the desserts during the Welcoming Feast, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. If it hadn’t been for Draco and Pansy, he never would have eaten as many sugary foods as he had.

Those he’d spotted in the Hospital Wing the previous night appeared to be in the same boat as him. Luna, who was known for eating sickeningly sweet breakfasts, had stuck to plain toast and unsweetened hot tea. Dade ate an abnormally healthy meal full of vegetables and lean meats, a clear attempt at making up for breaking the diet he’d worked so hard on over the past year. And Marcus Flint, still suffering a mild concussion from hitting his head in an attempt to flee from the dementor, went a bit green at the sight of Cassius Warrington’s stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

“Just don’t let it stop you from eating a full breakfast,” Pansy had insisted after Hydrus explained why he didn’t want any of the hot chocolate she kept offering him. “It won’t do for you to go back to that underfed look you had at the beginning of first year.”

“And eat plenty of protein to keep your strength,” Draco added as he plopped two sausage links onto Hydrus’ plate.

Hydrus rolled his eyes. “I do know how to feed myself, you know.”

“In that case, can I have one of those sausages?” Theo asked longingly. “The tray is too far away for me to get them myself.”

The words barely finished leaving his mouth before Draco heaped sausages onto Theo’s plate as well.

Uncle Severus—who Hydrus would have to remember to call Professor Prince during school—had been nearly as concerned about his wellbeing as Pansy and Draco. When Hydrus went to pick up his new schedule, Professor Prince had asked him how he was doing, if he needed a Calming Draught, and whether he’d spoken to his father yet about what happened with the dementor. He kept his usual stoic demeanor throughout the questioning, making it feel almost like an interrogation, but Hydrus could see the flicker of worry in his honorary uncle’s ink black eyes.

But nothing could have prepared him for Hermione launching herself at him the moment she spotted him in the Great Hall. She must have seen him picking his schedule from Professor Prince because she ambushed him hardly a minute later, latching her arms around his neck like some kind of worried octopus. He hardly had the chance to breathe as she rattled off question after question about his health, her grip on him never once loosening.

“Hermione, how’s he going to answer your questions with you squeezing the life out of him like that?” Ron asked, his tone teasing despite the concern for Hydrus evident in his eyes. He must have followed Hermione over here when she made a break for it.

Arms that were far stronger than they looked finally released Hydrus’ neck. “Oh. Right. Sorry,” Hermione hastily apologized. “It’s just that I was so worried about you and we didn’t get a chance to talk after the feast and—”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Hydrus cut her off, hoping to save everyone from her impending nervous rant.

Hermione looked as though she was gearing up to disagree with him, but luckily Ron cut in and abruptly asked: “So, what do your schedules look like for this year? Are either of you taking Care of Magical Creatures or Divination by chance?”

Hydrus shook his head. He had decided upon Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for his third year electives. There was talk of adding two more elective classes to the curriculum the following year—Comparative Religion and Ancient Rituals—and he wanted to keep some space open in his schedule so that he could sign up for Ancient Rituals as soon as it was made available. As interesting as Comparative Religion sounded, he couldn’t think of any scenario where he would need that information for his future career.

Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to take anything and everything being offered. She was already taking three elective courses this year and wanted to sign up for both of the upcoming electives, but had eventually been convinced by Mum to take Comparative Religion as a self-study course. That way, she could still sit the end of year exams but wouldn’t have to worry about schedule conflicts for all her classes. Hydrus just knew she was scheming to take more electives as self-study as well now that she knew it was an option.

“I’m taking Care of Magical Creatures but not Divination,” Hermione informed Ron. “The concept is fascinating, of course, but father says that Professor Trelawney’s a fraud who uses her great grandmother’s name to get ahead in the field.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. He clearly hadn’t expected to hear such a scathing review of the Divination Professor. “Well… the Sight is said to follow along family lines, so she might not be faking it… at least not entirely,” he argued, though his words had no real bite to them. “She might just not have it on all the time. I mean, we can’t all be Luna Lovegood.”

“No, we definitely can’t,” Hydrus reluctantly agreed. Luna was one of a kind. “Still, Trelawney only ever got hired because she supposedly made a prophecy in the middle of her interview. Only problem is that it was declared a fake by the Department of Mysteries.”

“Oh,” Ron squeaked. “Well I’m not interested in learning how to make prophecies anyway. It’s just that my Great-Aunt Muriel is pretty skilled with tarot cards and tea leaves, and I’ve wanted to try my hand at all that for ages.” His cheeks tinged pink. “I know it’s more of a house-witch hobby, but I think it’s really interesting.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Is it really? When all of that became popular in the muggle world, men were just as interested in it as women.”

“They have divination in the muggle world?” Ron asked excitedly.

“Oh, yes. I doubt it’s accurate or anything—” Hermione scrunched her nose at what Hydrus assumed was memories of gaudily dressed fortune tellers and horoscope columns in women’s magazines “—but there was this huge movement in the muggle world about two hundred years ago called Spiritualism where everyone was obsessed with predicting the future and communicating with the dead.”

“Communicating with the dead?” Ron looked absolutely horrified by the thought. “Why would they want to do that? Isn’t it bad enough dealing with the ghosts who _do_ stick around?”

“Muggles can’t see ghosts,” Hermione told him matter-of-factly.

“Some of them think they can, though,” Hydrus added, remembering the ghost hunting television shows Dade used to covertly watch when his parents were home. “They use all sorts of devices to try and prove it, but it’s mostly a bunch of nonsense.”

Hermione arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Only mostly?”

Hydrus shrugged. “One time Dade was watching some haunted special about the Tower of London, and, even though the muggles hosting the show couldn’t see him, there was very clearly a male ghost trying to communicate with the hosts. They caught a few of the things he said on a tape recorder though,” he explained. “It wasn’t until I came to Hogwarts that I realized that the reason they didn’t notice him was because muggles can’t see ghosts.”

Hydrus could practically hear the gears turning in his sister’s mind as her expression went from disbelieving to shocked to far too curious for her own good. “I… I think we should look further into that one of these days,” she decided. “It’d be fascinating to see what we can see and hear versus what muggle technology picks up.”

“I’m sure Dade can recommend some shows,” Hydrus suggested. “It might also be funny to see how his muggle monster movies compare to the real thing.”

He could all too easily picture Remus laughing along as they all watched some cheesy werewolf horror movie together. For someone who spent so many years feeling guilt and self-doubt over his condition, Remus had recently become quite confident in who he was. He no longer felt any shame in admitting to his “furry little problem” and even made plenty of terrible werewolf puns that caused everyone in earshot to cringe. He’d probably roll over laughing at a movie like _Teen Werewolf_.

“Definitely,” Hermione immediately agreed. Even without being a natural legilimens, it was easy to see that she was mentally preparing a list of movies and television shows to watch in the name of her research.

“Would it be alright if I joined this research project?” Ron asked. “I’ve never seen a muggle television or movie, but Dad’s explained enough of the concept to get me interested.”

“Of course!” Hermione told him. “The more, the merrier! Obviously we’ll need plenty of pairs of eyes so that we can confirm our results. I mean, if muggle video cameras can pick up ghosts well enough for wizards to see, who knows what else they’ve been picking up on without our noticing? We’ll have to do a through review of the techniques used to produce—”

“Breathe,” Hydrus and Ron said in unison.

Hermione sucked in a long breath, the slight red that had been building in her cheeks dissipating. “Right. Of course. It’s just that it’s all so exciting. We might be able to discover something brand new!”

“What are we discovering?” Draco interjected, jogging to catch up to his cousins and friend. “Also, shouldn’t we be heading to class soon? Slytherin and Ravenclaw have Charms first thing this morning.”

Ron groaned. “Lucky. My first class is History of Magic with the Gryffindors.”

Even though Binns had been replaced by Aunt Andromeda as the History of Magic professor, Ron still found the class boring. He was far better suited to classes with practical applications where he’d know how and why he’d be using that knowledge in the real world. Lecture-based classes with lots of reading like History gave him far more difficulty. The only parts he didn’t seem to have any problems remembering were treaties and laws that still mattered now because he could plainly see their effect in society.

“Oh, but this year’s History curriculum really interesting,” Hermione assured him. “I’ve already read the book, and there’s a lot more focus on historically significant witches and wizards. One of the chapters was all about the accomplishments of Merlin.”

“Terrific,” Ron said sarcastically. “This year’s lectures will be the long version of what you can read on a chocolate frog card.”

Hermione pursed her lips but didn’t bother arguing. It was clear she could see that trying to convince Ron to be more interested in History of Magic was a lost cause. 

Their conversation ended not long after that when Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones asked Ron if he wanted to walk over to the History classroom together. The four Hufflepuffs had become good friends last year when all their others in their house started accusing Hydrus and Hermione of being behind the petrifications, and that friendship remained even after the true culprit was apprehended.

Realizing how little time they had left before Charms, Hydrus, Draco, and Hermione rushed out of the Great Hall and in the direction of Professor Flitwick’s classroom. It wouldn’t do to be late on the very first day.

*****

Charms proved to be the perfect start to Hydrus’ third year at Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick had been entertaining as always, demonstrating the Softening Charm by casting it on bowling balls and have them bounce around the classroom like giant muggle bouncy balls. Students were only permitted to try the charm on small stones for now, which was met with varying degrees of success. Pansy and Hermione were the first to get their stones properly rubbery and bouncy, with Padma following closely behind. Hydrus had mostly succeeded, but there had still been one little spot on his stone that was still inflexible when class had ended.

After Charms was Transfiguration, which, while not as lighthearted as Charms, had an equally challenging practical portion of the lesson. The class started with an introductory lesson on the mechanics behind transfiguring wood into metal, and metal into wood. Eventually, they were each given small wooden boards that they were to transfigure into steel sheets. It took Hydrus a couple of tries to get it right, but he still ended up being among the first in the class to have a perfect steel sheet. Draco had gotten pretty close to perfect, but there was still the slight pattern of the wood grain in his sheet. Ron, unfortunately, had only managed a shiny, steel-plated piece of wood.

But perhaps the most fascinating part of Hydrus’ day was his very first Arithmancy lesson. He’d always been one of the best at mathematics in his primary school—not that the Dursleys had ever permitted him to get the high scores he deserved. Arithmany wasn’t quite like muggle math. He knew that well enough. But there was enough of a mathematical base that a good amount of what he’d read in the textbook so far felt familiar. He was excited to finally have a chance to show his true ability when it came to numbers.

Arithmancy was right after lunch, so Hydrus was able to regroup with his friends in the Great Hall and walk up to Professor Vector’s classroom together. Of their close-knit friend group, only Theo, Hermione, and Padma would be taking Arithmancy with him, while most of the others had Divination at the same time. Draco, however, had a free period as he was taking neither class. He’d heard from Ron that Justin would be in Arithmancy as well, but he wouldn’t be joining them on their walk up because he’d already made plans to walk to class with Michael Corner.

“It’s all quite exciting, isn’t it?” Hermione had said gleefully as they arrived in the room and took their seats. The room was set up to allow two people per work table, so Hermione had opted to partner up with Padma while Hydrus and Theo sat at the table directly behind the two. “We’re finally at the point in our magical educations where we can start focusing on specific branches of magic that we’re more interested in, ones that will hopefully give us the knowledge we’ll need for our future careers.”

“Hermione,” Padma replied slowly, “we’re thirteen. We have no reason to think about careers yet. I’m just here because Arithmancy sounds interesting.”

“It’s never too early to start thinking about the future,” Theo disagreed, which came as a surprise to no one. After all, he’d spent the summer corresponding with Hermione about O.W.L. preparation, study tips, and their mutual interest in the Unspeakables program. They had an equal level of over-preparedness.

Luckily, Hydrus and Padma were spared from hearing anything more on the subject when Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis entered the room just moments later and took the table beside the boys. Hydrus was pleasantly surprised to see them. While he didn’t talk to them all that often, he knew from Pansy that both seemingly serious girls were fascinated by horoscopes and tarot cards. Because of that, he’d expected them to end up in Divination with the others, and he told them as much.

“It’s more of a hobby if I’m being honest,” Tracey told him. “I didn’t want to chose a class I’d be taking for the net several years just because I think tarot card readings are fun.”

Daphne was far more brutal in her explanation. “I don’t want to sit in that horrid smoke-filled classroom while a drunken fraud tells me to imagine nonsense in a crystal ball,” she said decisively. “Besides, it doesn’t take a Seer to realize that Divination is worthless for anyone looking to be taken seriously after graduation.”

Hydrus was inclined to agree with both girls’ sentiments.

Professor Vector arrived several minutes later and wordlessly began to write on the chalkboard at the front of the room. It wasn’t until she’d finished her bullet-point list and a few Arithmantic illustrations that she acknowledged the students.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to your very first Arithmancy lesson,” she greeted them in a stern, measured tone of voice that Hydrus had heard a thousand times from Professor McGonagall.

“Good afternoon,” some of the students greeted back, Hydrus among them.

She made no indication that she cared that they’d replied. “Now I know it’s the first day, but can any of you tell me what Arithmancy is?”

Both Hermione and Theo’s hands shot into the air.

Over the next few minutes, students offered everything from barely informed guesses to textbook definitions of the subject. But even among those who recited definitions, no one could truly pinpoint the essence of the subject.

“Impressive guesses, though they were naturally lacking due to your being beginners,” Professor Vector told them once all the raised hands were firmly back down on their desks. “Arithmancy, is, as most of you seem to know, is the study of the various magical properties of numbers—most notably the insight they provide in terms of deducing the most probable outcomes of various events that have yet to occur.

“Perhaps the most common misconception about Arithmancy is that it is simply Divination with numbers.” The slight curl of her upper lip betrayed her disgust at such a comparison. “This couldn’t be further from the truth. While those who practice Divination claim to know the future as if each moment is predestined to the point of being set in stone, Arithmancers fully accept the limitations of their craft. The future is fluid, always moving and ever-changing. We can pinpoint the likelihood of all the possibilities based on a wide array of variables, but, at the end of the day, the future is still a gamble.”

Hydrus appreciated her honesty. He’d always found it annoying when both muggle and magical Seers claimed to know exactly how the future was destined to play out. Prophecies, the only truly infallible form of Future Sight, were vague for a reason. Even with a certain set of predestined conditions, much of the future outcome was up to chance.

A hand shot up in Hydrus’ periphery.

“Yes, Ms. Li?” Professor Vector questioned.

Ravenclaw Sue Li chewed on her lower lip for a moment before asking: “Is there any correlation at all between Arithmancy and muggle statistics?”

“Indeed there is, Ms. Li,” Professor Vector confirmed. “Two points to Ravenclaw for your well-informed question.” Turning her attention to the rest of the class, she continued: “Raise your hand if you have any familiarity with the field of statistics. Even if it’s just an introductory understanding of probability, I encourage you to put your hand up.”

A little less than half the class raised their hands. Hydrus and Hermione both had their hands in the air, as well as Justin Finch-Fletchley and another muggle-born in their year by the name of Sophie Roper, but their friends Theo and Padma did not. As he took note of who knew about statistics and who didn’t, Hydrus realized something interesting: not a single pureblood had raised their hand.

Professor Vector must’ve noticed the same thing because she said, “It appears that those of you with at least some muggle education are at an advantage. Our first two weeks of lessons are on statistics and the relevance of probability mapping in the foundation of Arithmancy. It won’t be nearly as in-depth as muggle courses on the subject, but I recommend you pay attention all the same as you become reacquainted with the material.”

There were several groans in the room from the purebloods, though Hydrus couldn’t tell if it was because they were at a disadvantage or because they didn’t want to learn about muggle mathematics. Professor Vector completely ignored them.

The next twenty minutes of class were dedicated to a general introduction on probability. Professor Vector explained the meaning of _P(X=x)_ and how it was something they would all be using quite a lot in the coming weeks. She gave a few examples as well, showing them how to calculate the probability of a coin landing on heads or tails, how to add discrete probabilities such as the coin landing on heads three times in a row, and then the likelihood of pulling different colored marbles out of a bag—all of which Hydrus vaguely remembered from his final year in muggle primary school.

By the end of the lecture portion of the day’s lesson, the purebloods who had been doubtful of the usefulness of muggle mathematics looked thoroughly chastened, while the muggle-raised students felt ever so slightly superior for having at least some understanding of what Professor Vector was talking about. Theo had taken to staring at the chalkboard in wide-eyed fascination, and it was clear by Tracey’s expression that she found this far more worthwhile than her tarot card hobby. Only Hermione was completely unaffected, likely a combination of her having been in advanced math courses in primary school and having a perfect visual memory.

“Our first practical lesson comes from a branch of muggle mathematics called predictive analytics, which is heavily inspired by statistics,” Professor Vector announced as she erased the math behind the colored marble problem. “On the fifteenth of April in 1912, the Titanic—a supposedly unsinkable ship with countless failsafes to prevent capsizing—ventured out on its maiden voyage. In fact, everyone was so sure of the boat’s invulnerability that they failed to procure enough lifeboats for the passengers. Those of you familiar with this story already know what happened: the Titanic hit an iceberg and sank, killing sixty-eight percent of the 2,224 passengers.

“One might think that, with such a low chance of survival, those who managed to come out of the tragedy with their lives had only luck to thank. However, this was not the case.” She stopped to survey the class, making sure everyone was still paying attention. “A person’s wealth, age, and gender greatly contributed to their odds of survival. Women, children, and upper-class individuals who had purchased first-class tickets were all significantly more likely to obtain a seat in the scarce number of lifeboats while men, the poor, crew members, and the elderly were more likely to die. The captain also died in the wreck, as it is muggle tradition for shipwrecked captains to go down with their ships.”

Professor Vector allowed for a moment of silence to honor the dead before continuing. “I will be assigning a fictional person with a specific list of attributes to each pair of you. You and your partner will assess the likelihood of the assigned character’s survival based on the attributes listed. For your convenience, the significance factor of each attribute will be listed on the board.” Folded scraps of parchment materialized on the desks. “Begin.”

Theo reached out for their slip of parchment and unfolded it. “Twenty-one year old middle-class man,” he read.

“Not the best of odds then,” Hydrus said with a grimace.

“Definitely not.”

The boys waited for Professor Vector to finish writing the additional information on the board before attempting to solve the problem. While they both understood that the likelihood of their person surviving was not very good at all, they knew they couldn’t exactly write that down as their answer. They needed to come up with as accurate of a survival probability as possible.

It took several tries and a lot of double-checking the math, but Hydrus and Theo were able to solve their problem with a reasonable degree of certainty. For as stern as lecture had been, Professor Vector had been incredibly helpful and willing to answer any questions the students had—regardless of whether they were highly complex or entirely insignificant inquiries about tiny details. Because of how helpful she was, everyone managed to complete their practical work before the class ended for the day.

Shortly after they left class, they discovered that not everyone had as productive of a time as them. All their friends who had Divination looked either shell-shocked or annoyed. Half of them insisted Trelawney knew her stuff and were terrified of their futures because of it, while the other half was muttering vaguely about whether or not it was too late to change electives. Ron, however, said nothing. He just stood there—pale faced and terrified, as if his own shadow was out to get him.

“You alright, Ron?” Hydrus hesitantly asked, more than a little worried that the mere sound of his voice might startle his friend.

Ron shook his head, a silent ‘no’ on his lips.

“He’s been like that ever since we read the tea leaves, though I don’t know why,” Pansy explained. “After all, _he_ wasn’t the one who was told they were soon to die.”

Hydrus arched a confused eyebrow at that. “Trelawney predicted someone would die?”

“Yep,” Pansy confirmed, popping the ‘p’. “Some terrible fate is supposed to befall me by the end of the year, leading to my tragic and untimely death.” She didn’t sound at all worried. If anything, she seemed amused by the ridiculous prediction.

“And Ron?” Hydrus inquired.

Pansy shrugged. “No idea. His cup had a rat in it or something.”

Finally, Ron spoke. “Trelawney said it meant ‘losses through enemies’, but I know better.” He sounded haunted and a little bit disgusted. “It’s an omen. I know it is. That rat was a warning.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. What could a rat possibly be a warning about? Vermin in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“No. Peter Pettigrew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the entire time i was writing about the titanic problem, i could practically envision my old econometrics professor breathing down our necks and berating us for miscalculations like a very short french snape


	7. The Boggart in the Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hydrus and friends come face to face with a boggart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own jk rowling.  
> 2\. sorry for taking 10 million years to finish this chapter. i'm kind of prepping to get married tomorrow...

Nothing anyone said was able to convince Ron that the rat in his tea leaves had nothing to do with Peter Pettigrew, and, eventually, everyone realized it would be better to just stop talking about it in the hopes that Ron would forget about it. Those who knew about Scabbers knew just how sensitive of a topic this was for Ron, and no one wanted to further stress him out by bringing it up.

Luckily, a perfect distraction presented itself that Friday evening: quidditch tryouts for the Slytherin house team. Hydrus and Pansy had planned to watch so that they could support Draco and Millicent—who were trying out for seeker and beater, respectively—and decided to invite Ron to tag along so that he could focus on something more pleasant than possible omens about murderous rats. Ron was hesitant to agree at first out of concern that the Slytherin team might see his Hufflepuff tie and accuse him of being a spy, but he gave in when Pansy reminded him that he wouldn’t be any good as a spy since he wasn’t even on the Hufflepuff team.

The three of them ended up having a great time watching the tryouts from the stands, chatting amongst one another and cheering for their friends. Afterwards, they were joined by Draco and Millicent, and the five of them snuck into the kitchens for a snack and a bit of analysis on all those who tied out for the team. All in all, it had been a pleasant evening.

That pleasant evening, however, had given way to a nearly insufferable Tuesday morning. Montague, the team captain, had posted the results in the common room just before they were all due for breakfast in the Great Hall. Both Draco and Millicent had made the team, and, while Millicent had shown a tasteful amount of excitement, Draco wouldn’t shut up about it. Hydrus was able to recite Draco’s entire “it was such a close call between me and Higgs” speech well before their morning classes with the number of times he’d heard it.

Hydrus was happy for Draco—he really was—but right now he was acting far too much like the self-important showboater he’d met at Madame Malkin’s just before first year. It was starting to get on his nerves, and he doubted he’d last much longer before snapping at his cousin.

In the end, Pansy was the one who snapped first. She’d decided right as they sat down in Potions class that she’d finally had enough. “We get it, Draco,” she said with a dramatic roll of her hooded black eyes. “You’re on the team. You beat an upperclassman for the position. You’re the greatest thing to ever fly a broom or whatever. Just save it for when you actually win a game.”

Draco’s cheeks colored at the admonishment, but he blustered on anyway. “Just because you don’t recognize the importance of house quidditch teams—”

“Oh, I recognize plenty,” Pansy retorted, “enough to know that, at the end of the day, it’s just some silly sport that won’t matter after we’ve graduated.”

Her flippant comment caused an uproar in the potions classroom. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike quickly jumped to the defense of the time-honored tradition of taking quidditch house teams far too seriously. Seamus Finnigan looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel over the perceived slander of his favorite sport, while both Greg and Vince insisted on the importance of quidditch to house pride. It was all a bit extreme in Hydrus’ opinion, and, judging by the looks of abject boredom on Pansy and Theos faces, they thought so as well.

“Settle down now,” said Professor Prince as he strode into the room, looking thoroughly unimpressed with his students. “Quidditch talk has no place in a potions laboratory, especially not one full of untrained witches and wizards.”

Professor Prince—formerly known to the Hogwarts students as Professor Snape—had not become any less strict or demanding with the removal of former headmaster Albus Dumbledore from the school, though he did seem far more relaxed. He didn’t snap at students as quickly as he once had, and he carried himself just a little taller, like a great weight had been lifted off his thin shoulders. He was still very much the scary dungeon bat who preferred his Slytherins to students from other houses, but that scariness came from his need to keep the number of potions accidents as low as possible. Students were far less likely to goof around in his class, after all, if they feared how he might react.

Hydrus would never admit it to the man’s face, but he couldn’t find it in him to think of the Potions professor as scary, or even intimidating. He was impressive, of course, being the youngest Potions master in three hundred years, and he could be terribly strict, but there wasn’t anything truly terrifying or malicious about his socially awkward Uncle Severus.

“Today, you will all be brewing Shrinking Solution,” Professor Prince announced with a flourish. “It is not a terribly complex potion, but it _is_ highly sensitive to even the slightest of changes to the recipe. Be sure to read the instructions carefully, measure your ingredient amounts as precisely as possible, and if you have any questions whatsoever, I implore you to try and work out your problems amongst yourselves before coming to me.” When no one moved, he arched a judgemental eyebrow. “Well, what are you waiting for? Begin.”

The students quickly got to work after that.

As always, Professor Prince had not overstated the delicate nature of the potion they were working on. Neville Longbottom’s potion grew rather volatile from being a bit too generous in the amount of daisy roots he’d added, but luckily, between his own understanding of herbology and his table partner’s calm assurances, he was able to rescue the potion before it became a danger to the class.

“Do you think drinking this Shrinking Solution will do anything to fix the size of your massive ego?” Hydrus asked Draco offhandedly as he skinned his shrivelfigs.

Draco stuck out his tongue in lieu of response.

Hydrus smirked. “Is that you offering to try it out then?”

“I don’t think a few drops on the tongue would be enough to deflate his big head,” Pansy chimed in from behind them.

Millicent, who was sitting beside Pansy, chuckled quietly but didn’t add anything any barbs of her own.

“You’ll all change your tunes soon enough when I start winning quidditch games,” Draco said imperiously. “Better start working on your apologies now before it’s too late.”

“That’d be a far more impressive threat were you not already stuck with me for life, dear cousin,” Hydrus teased.

Draco narrowed his eyes in his best impression of Professor Prince. “All the more reason for you to watch your back.”

Hydrus, of course, would do no such thing. He recognized that his cousin’s threat was an empty one.

Turning his attention back to his potion, Hydrus could see that it was coming along quite nicely. He’d been diligent in weighing his ingredients before preparing them, and double-checking said preparation to minimize the chance of something going horribly wrong. He may not have Hermione precision or Draco’s intuitive instincts when it came to Potions, but years of cooking for the Dursleys had taught him the importance of following recipes to the letter. He was relieved to see that all his hard work was paying off.

Just as Hydrus was about to congratulate himself on a perfectly done potion, he heard the startled cry of: “Trevor, no!”

But it was too late. Hydrus heard the splash come from Neville’s direction and immediately understood what had just happened. Trevor had jumped into the newly finished cauldron of Shrinking Solution.

Professor Prince rushed over to Neville’s cauldron, his robes billowing behind him. “What’s happened, Mr. Longbottom?” he asked in a dangerously serious voice.

“Trevor!” Neville exclaimed breathlessly. “H-he jumped in!”

“ _Accio Trevor!_ ” Professor Prince intoned, his wand pointed at the still cooling cauldron.

Out of the cauldron flew a small, wriggling tadpole with a piece of dandelion root in its mouth. It was Trevor.

“Well done, Mr. Longbottom. Your Shrinking Solution gets full marks,” said Professor Prince as he handed the tadpole to Neville. “Next time, though, wait for my examination of your potion before letting your pet test it.”

Neville nodded vigorously, clutching baby Trevor like he was the most important thing in the world. “Yes, Sir,” he said quickly.

Class was uneventful after that, much to everyone’s relief. Professor Prince examined everyone’s potions by sight, vanished only two that were too volatile to be bottled, and passed out vials so that everyone could submit their samples. Hydrus’ wasn’t quite as brilliantly colored as it was meant to be, but everything else was close enough to the intended end product that he felt confident he’d receive an Exceeds Expectations for his potion.

Draco’s was perfect as always, but, after being teased so mercilessly by Pansy earlier that day, he kept his smugness over his potion to himself. Only his superior expression gave away his silent desire to gloat.

“I think that was the least explosive lesson we’ve ever had,” Pansy said as the students cleaned up their work stations.

Hydrus nodded. “No one even singed their eyebrows off today.” It was usually Finnigan who did, but, lucky for him, Dean Thomas had managed to spot what was wrong with his friend’s over-boiling potion just in time.

“Indeed,” agreed Professor Prince, startling Hydrus. He hadn’t heard his professor approach. “I’m not yet sure if I should be thankful or concerned that you’re all up to something.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait until next class to find out, Sir,” Hydrus joked.

Professor Prince arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Is that so, Mr. Lestrange?”

Hydrus simply shrugged.

“He’s obviously just trying to cover for the next time he accidentally blows up a cauldron, Sir,” Draco teased. “Better to seem like some mastermind than an idiot who can’t read directions.”

Professor Prince frowned, but there was humor dancing in his dark eyes. Anyone else might have thought it a dangerous expression, but Hydrus and Draco both knew their uncle well enough to know he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Once they finished cleaning up their work stations, the students began to file out of the room—some in far better spirits than others. Neville, in particular, looked terribly put out by what had happened to Trevor. It was easy to see that, even though he could still understand what Trevor was saying, he didn’t have the slightest idea of how to care for a tadpole.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Professor Prince drawled just before Neville could leave the room, “stay after class so that I can administer the Shrinking Solution antidote to your toad.”

Neville’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, almost like he couldn’t believe the professor was being so voluntarily helpful. “Yes, Sir! Thank you!”

*****

After double Potions was lunch and then Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had become Hydrus’ favorite class ever since Professor Lupin took over the position partway through the previous school year. The position had been cursed for nearly fifty years due to his own father’s pettiness, but, the combination of a competent teacher and an aunt who was a retired curse-breaker remedied the spellwork that forced Defense professors to flee from the post within a year. And Hydrus was glad for it. Professor Lupin wasn’t just the best Defense professor they’d had; he was Hyrus’ favorite professor in the entire school.

He liked Professor Prince a great deal and of course loved his father, but there was no denying that, of the professors he knew personally, Lupin was the one to whom teaching came easiest. He was a natural educator with seemingly endless patience and the ability to keep every single student fully engaged without sacrificing the quality of his lectures. He didn’t need props or gimmicks, not like his idiot predecessor Lockhart, nor did he need to utilize a strict persona to keep his class in line like Professors Prince and McGonagall. There was just something about him that made everyone naturally want to listen and learn.

Professor Lupin was sitting cross-legged on his desk when Hydrus and the rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors entered the room. _”Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please all put your books back in your bags? Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”_

There were several murmurs of surprise throughout the room, but the students all did as they were told. They’d had a few practical lessons in previous years, with a noticeable uptick when Professor Lupin took over for Lockhart, but they’d never before had one so early in the year. After all, it was only the second week, and they hadn’t yet learned any new defensive spells.

_”Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”_

_Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and follow Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum._

_Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song._

_”Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy, Lupin—”_

Professor Lupin just smiled in the face of Peeves’ rude little song. He cocked his head to the side, waiting and watching, almost as if he was amused by how things might play out.

It occurred to Hydrus that his honorary uncle like _was_ amused. He was a Marauder, after all, and married to Sirius Black. Peeves was probably a mild annoyance at worst to someone who had dedicated their entire life to causing mischief and mayhem.

_”I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.”_

Peeves, of course, resolutely ignored Professor Lupin’s warning—choosing instead to blow a loud a raspberry and then resume his repetitive little song.

“Well, students,” Professor Lupin began in his most serious professor voice, causing some of the students to giggle, “this wasn’t what I had in mind for today’s lesson, but I don’t suppose there’s any harm in teaching you two new spells instead of one.” Drawing his wand and aiming it at an unsuspecting Peeves, he calmly, clearly intoned: “ _Waddiwasi!”_

_With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’ left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing._

_”Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement._

_”Thank you, Dean,” said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?”_

The students followed Professor Lupin just a bit further down the hall and into the staffroom. It was long and just a bit too narrow to make sense, but there was space enough for all of the students—even with the clutter of mismatched chairs and tea-stained tables.

Sitting in a slightly worn armchair and reading a thick potions journal was Professor Prince, who lowered the journal just low enough so that his black eyes peered over the pages. “Why do I have the feeling that I’ll witness nothing short of a disaster if I remain here?” he asked rhetorically.

“No need to be so dramatic, Severus,” Professor Lupin playfully assured him. “We’re just having a little practical lesson.”

Professor Prince arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Nothing involving you could ever be defined as practical, Remus.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Professor Lupin agreed with a chuckle. 

“Well,” drawled Professor Prince as he got up from his seat and made to leave, the potions journal still in his hand, “I’ll leave you to it.” He sent one last skeptical look Professor Lupin’s way before shutting the door behind him with an audible _click_.

Professor Lupin rolled his eyes. “Some things never change,” he muttered to himself. “Now then,” he addressed the class, “why don’t we all gather around the wardrobe over there?”

The students obediently approached the wardrobe, which gave a shake and a shudder, as though it could sense that someone was nearby. Hydrus was confused but intrigued. Professor Lupin still hadn’t told them what they were doing today, but it was becoming increasingly clear that today’s lesson was hiding inside of that wardrobe.

A loud _crack!_ reverberated from the inside of the wardrobe. Something was trying to get out.

_”Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”_

_Most people seemed to feel that this **was** something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyes the now rattling doorknob apprehensively._ Hydrus didn’t fully understand why they were reacting so strongly. Professor Lupin was right. Boggarts, while terrifying, weren’t inherently dangerous. They simply preyed on a person’s darkest fears, though in a far less heinous manner than the dementors just outside the school’s gates.

“Now, would any of you like to tell me what exactly a boggart is?” Professor Lupin asked, not at all bothered by the clear discomfort nearly a third of the class was showing.

Parvati Patil raised her hand.

“Yes, Parvati?”

“It’s a malicious shape-shifter, sir,” she explained, her voice a bit shaky. “They don’t like people, so they turn into your worst fear to keep anyone from bothering them.”

“Very good, Parvati,” Professor Lupin said with a smile. _”So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”_

Another hand shot into the air—Vincent Crabbe’s. “Professor, how is that going to work? I mean, there’s a lot of us here, and I doubt we’re all afraid of the same thing. How will it know what to turn into?” 

Professor Lupin looked like Christmas had come early. “That’s a great question, Vince, a great question indeed. In fact, two points to Slytherin for managing to ask it before I did.” His giving out points seemed to shock Vince, who rarely earned any points at all. “It’s because there are so many of us here today that we’re at an advantage. If enough of us get close to the boggart at the same time, it’ll become confused and retreat back into the wardrobe. ‘Strength in numbers’, as the muggles say. However, approaching a boggart in a group isn’t the only way to defeat them. Does anyone know another weakness for boggarts?”

Theo raised his hand. As soon as Professor Lupin acknowledged him, he said: “Laughter, Sir. They can’t stand being made fun of.”

“Very good, Theo,” Professor Lupin praised him. “Yes, laughter is a boggart’s greatest weakness. The process of making a boggart into something humorous has two parts. First, you point your wand and say a simple charm: _Riddikulus_. Can you all repeat that for me?”

A chorus of “ _Riddikulus!_ ” echoed throughout the staffroom. 

“Good. Like I said, it’s a simple charm,” Professor Lupin said. “It’s the second part that requires quite a bit more effort. You see, the charm does precious little without a clear idea of what to transform your boggart into.” He looked around at all the students before stopping at Neville. “May I ask your greatest fear, Neville?”

Neville dropped his gaze to the floor and his face flushed pink. “Gilderoy Lockhart,” Neville hesitantly admitted. “Although, to be honest, I’m not sure how to make him any more ridiculous than he already is.”

Professor Lupin looked sad at first, sympathetic to the pain and suffering Lockhart had caused the Longbottom family, but then, his eyes began to gleam with a terrifying vengeance. “I really shouldn’t be telling any of you this, but I believe I know just the thing. Lockhart was only two years ahead of Professor Prince and I in school, and, in his seventh year, he was quite taken with Professor Prince. Your potions master, of course, hated him with a passion. Eventually, he got so fed up with the constant advances that he hexed Lockhart to have the worst case of acne ever seen in the halls of Hogwarts. I daresay it did more damage than any Dark curse could have hoped to achieve.”

All of the students burst into laughter, Hydrus among them. It was all too easy to picture Lockhart shrieking in terror at the sight of acne all over his face.

“When I open the wardrobe, Neville, I want you to focus on the thought of a young, heartbroken Lockhart with a face full of acne and say _Riddikulus_ ,” Professor Lupin instructed.

Neville gave a terse nod. He was ready.

“The rest of you ought to focus on your own fears and how to make them funny,” Professor Lupin continued. “If Neville is successful, the boggart will look to one of us to try and scare next.”

Hydrus grimaced. If someone had asked him last year, he would have immediately answered that his greatest fear was his Uncle Vernon. Now, though, after Lockhart had petrified his sister and with Dumbledore on the run for double murder, he wasn’t so sure. It was just as likely that the boggart would transform into Hermione’s petrified form as it would a screaming Uncle Vernon.

And then, Hydrus remembered something much, much worse: the dementors. Nothing he’d ever seen or experienced could compare to the abject terror of coming face to face with those soul-sucking specters.

“Is everyone ready?” Professor Lupin asked, snapping Hydrus out of his reflections.

Hydrus murmured “yes” along with the rest of the class, but he didn’t feel ready at all. He had no idea how to make the embodiment of fear and dread and into something funny. He needed to come up with something, and fast, or else he was liable to faint right in front of everyone.

_”Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, right? I’ll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot—”_

Everyone took several steps, more than happy to put some space between the boggart and themselves. Neville, despite the shaking in his hands, took a steadying breath and stepped forward.

“Now!” Professor Lupin instructed. He aimed his wand at the wardrobe and said the Unlocking Charm.

The wardrobe burst open, and Gilderoy Lockhart stepped out. He looked every bit the pompous, self-obsessed idiot he’d been last year—all the way down to his perfectly coiffed hair and lilac robes. His face, however, was almost unrecognizable. His steely gaze bore down on Neville with a ferocity Hydrus had only seen when the man had been apprehended by the Aurors. Boggart Lockhart reached into his pockets for his wand, a silent spell already on his lips: _Obliviate_

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Neville cried desperately, nearly dropping his wand from how badly he was trembling.

Lockhart—or rather, the boggart—grew younger and less put together. No longer deadly serious, his expression had contorted in some strong, unflattering emotion. “SEVERUS! MY LOVE!” he cried, his handsome face marred by acne and tear streaks. “HOW COULD YOU?”

The room erupted with laughter at the sight of their awful former Defense professor in such a pitiful state. Boggart Lockhart grew cagey, looking around desperately for a more suitable victim in order to escape this mockery.

“Theo, you’re up next!” Professor Lupin declared through bouts of laughter.

As Neville retreated, Theo stepped forward to face the boggart. The boggart latched onto the sight of Theo in an instant, but something strange happened. Rather than transform into some new and terrifying sight, the creature’s shape was in a constant state of flux, unable to form.

“Sir?” Theo asked, alarmed. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Professor Lupin frowned. “What’s your biggest fear, Theo?”

“Heights, Sir.”

“Ah,” Professor Lupin said with a snort. “It seems the boggart is stumped at how to turn into a fear like that. You’re free to step back. Parvati, why don’t you come up?”

Bracing herself, Parvati approached the boggart. This time, it quickly found its shape: that of a rotting, blood-stained mummy. It looked like something out of a muggle horror movie, groaning as it shuffled slowly across the floor.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Parvati shouted.

The mummy’s bandages transformed from cloth to cheap toilet paper, and then dissolved, the mummy falling apart from the sudden lack of support. If anything, Hydrus thought that was far worse than the mummy itself, but Parvati looked far calmer now than when she first approached the boggart.

Professor Lupin shook his head at the sight and then announced: “Pansy, you’re up!”

For the rest of the class, Professor Lupin called out names in an alternating Gryffindor-Slytherin order. Pansy’s hag and Seamus’ banshee both lost their voices, while Greg’s cobra turned into a muggle slinky and Lavender’s clown went bald. Things nearly fell apart when Draco’s turn brought Fenrir Greyback into the room—eliciting ferocious growls form the their Defense professor’s throat—but luckily Draco was able to save the situation by turning Greyback into a miniature poodle.

And then, finally, it was Hydrus’ turn. Taking a deep breath, he made his way toward the yippy little poodle, a knot of dread forming in his stomach as the dog grew into the dark, icy visage of a dementor. Hydrus froze in place, his heart beating so hard it was the only thing he could hear. The dementor reached forward, exposing one of its rotting, decaying spindly hands, and—

“Riddikulus!” cried Hydrus.

The dementor transformed in an instant. Where the guard of Azkaban’s black hood once resided was a familiar hooded black helmet with a ventilated mouthpiece. “Luke,” it rasped. “I am your father.”

Hydrus let out a sigh of relief. It had worked. The dementor was now Darth Vader.

Professor Lupin snorted, while Dean Thomas laughed so hard that he had to lean against the wall so as not to fall over. Both Greg, Vince, and Millicent thought it was funny as well, having watched _Star Wars_ with Dade over the summer.

“Congratulations, everyone!” Professor Lupin told them. “You’ve all managed to humiliate a boggart, even if some of you only needed to have more abstract fears to do so.” Everyone looked at Theo, who looked at the floor. “Now, why don’t I finish him off and we call it a day?”

As soon as Professor Lupin got close, the boggart transformed into a bright, round full moon. Some of the students backed further away, as if even this artificial moon might cause their professor to shift into his werewolf form.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Professor Lupin shouted. The moon turned into a bright white balloon that let out of a loud, long farting noise as it deflated. As everyone laughed at the sound, their professor banished what was left of the humiliated boggart back into the wardrobe and locked the door.

“Five points to everyone for facing the boggart,” Professor Lupin said with a smile. “Your homework is to read what your textbook has to say about boggarts and summarize the important bits. Let’s try to keep it between five and six inches, yeah?”

Everyone filed out of the room, excitedly chattering about how fun the lesson had been. Even Hydrus, despite his initial fear that he might faint at the mere sight of the dementor, felt good about how he’d done. He’d barely felt more than a slight bit of dizziness before he managed to shout out the spell.

The only person who didn’t seem all that thrilled was Theo. “I didn’t even get a real turn,” he muttered, trying very hard and failing not to sound petulant.

Draco snorted. “Come up with a better fear then,” he joked. “Honestly, heights? What’s there to be afraid of about heights? We fly on brooms all the time.”

“I don’t,” Theo reminded him with a frown. “I’m too afraid of heights.”


	8. Hogsmeade Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first hogsmeade weekend of the year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i regrettably don't own harry potter, but the original series would've been way less bigoted if i did  
> 2\. hell yeah it's nanowrimo  
> 3\. i'm fucking married now, babey!

Just like when he took over from Lockhart the previous year, the halls of Hogwarts were once again abuzz with declarations that Professor Lupin was the best professor to ever teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. The students couldn’t get enough of him, and especially couldn’t get enough of his practical lessons. Some of the students even claimed that he was the best professor since the Four Founders. Hydrus didn’t have any empirical evidence to back it up, but he tended to agree with that bold assessment of his uncle’s teaching abilities.

Professor Lupin took it all in stride, though the blush on his cheeks when students made such comments to his face betrayed his embarrassment at all the attention. Naturally a bit quiet, he wasn’t used to the overwhelming adoration he received from his students. Rather than try to stop them or shy away, though, he used the favor he’d earned from the student body as inspiration to keep coming up with more and more fantastic practical lessons.

None, however, gained as much attention as the third years’ Gryffindor-Slytherin boggart lesson News that of acne-ridden Lockhart admitting his love for Professor Prince had spread throughout the entire school by the end of the week—much to Professor Prince’s annoyance. He didn’t mind that the students knew he’d hexed Lockhart all those years ago, but he _did_ mind it very much that he’d spent the next several days inundated with questions to know what they both looked like as teens and if Lockhart had tried coming onto him again last school year. Some of the older students had even taken to debating whether or not Professor Prince might have been hot in his youth. They couldn’t imagine why else a handsome guy like Lockhart would have gone after their Potions professor, especially not with his acerbic nature.

Suddenly, everyone was analyzing every antagonist moment between the two to see if they could find evidence that Lockhart still harbored resentment at being rejected by the dour potions master. The one and only attempt at a dueling club was no longer viewed as a failed experiment in teaching the students defense. Instead, it had been mythicized into some strange power play between a jaded would-be lover and the man who had so thoroughly disavowed his advances all those years ago. It was all a bit over the top, and none thought so more than Professor Prince.

Luckily for Professor Prince, the gossip blew over a few weeks later when a new distraction was presented to the students: the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. It was set to take place on Halloween, and Hydrus was excited that he could spend his day eating sweets from Honeydukes with his friends and his evening celebrating Samhain with his father, sister, and cousin Dade. Everything was working out to be a thoroughly enjoyable weekend.

Hydrus had never been to Hogsmeade before. It was a special privilege for third year students and older, and this was the first trip to the village since the start of his third year. The Weasley twins had nothing but good things to say about the Hogsmeade trips—save for their disappointment in the limited product lines available at Zonko’s Joke Shop. They regaled Hydrus and his friends with tales of butterbeers by the fire at The Three Broomsticks, trying and failing miserably to sneak into a dodgy pub called the Hog’s Head, and eating themselves sick on their hauls from Honeydukes. By the time Fred and George were done retelling the highlights from own visits, Hydrus could hardly wait to go.

“The only downside is we’ll have to pass by those dementors to get there,” Ron complained with a shudder as they joined the other students on their way to the village. “I can’t imagine it’ll be easy to enjoy Hogsmeade after seeing them.”

Hydrus agreed. A small part of him feared that he’d faint yet again and end up in the Hospital Wing while all his friends were at Hogsmeade. Even though he’d been mostly fine with the boggart-dementor, he couldn’t very well drive off the real thing with a cry of “ _Riddikulus!_ ” and the thought of Darth Vader. If only he knew how to produce a patronus like Professor Lupin. Then maybe he’d have a chance at getting past the dementors without any issues. Perhaps he could ask his professor for lessons… 

“I still don’t see how the minister can get away with sending dementors to guard the school,” Hermione said with a frown.

Hydrus nodded. “Aurors would have been a far more practical option,” he replied. His parents might still understandably distrust the Aurors, but he could see they were a far better bunch with Bagnold and Crouch gone and Amelia Bones in charge. “We’d be in far less danger with them around. Instead, we’ve got to worry about whether the dementors are just as likely to attack us Dumbledore.”

“Plus we’d actually be able to report it to Aurors if we saw something suspicious,” his sister added.

“Honestly,” Draco drawled, “imagine trying to report something to a dementor. They’d just as likely assume you were the criminal they were looking for and try to take _your_ soul instead of Dumbledore’s. Then again, I’m not even sure I could blame them. I bet the old goat’s soul would be downright disgusting.”

Draco had written to his father about the dementors on the very first night of term. He’d relayed what had happened to Hydrus, the effects a number of other students had suffered, and his own concerns about the dangers of keeping such dangerous creatures at a school. Uncle Lucius had tried first to make Minister Fudge see reason and then to force his hand with the unanimous backing of the Board of Governors, but nothing would make the usually spineless minister stand down.

As a result, Draco and the other students who had petitioned for the dementors’ removal had grown increasingly bitter about their presence. They all seemed to have come to some silent agreement to badmouth the placement of the dementors as much as possible until the public outrage grew to a point where the minister’s job would be on the line if he continued not to act.

“It’s like the minister’s asking for something terrible to happen,” Draco continued, pursing his lips. “I’d always heard he was stupid, but this goes beyond all logic. Dementors have no business being anywhere near a school.”

“I doubt Fudge will get reelected after this,” Hermione agreed viciously. Having already thought Fudge was incompetent, she was thrilled about any and all ammunition to get him removed from office.

“Maybe he’ll even face an inquiry.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I can only hope he does. This is hardly the first questionable thing he’s done during his time as minister.”

Conspiratorial talk against Minister Fudge continued for the entirety of the journey down to Hogsmeade. By the time they’d arrived in the village, Hermione and Draco had all but planned a full-out coup against the minister—as well as a far less exciting plot to have him removed from power in a legitimate and legal fashion. Not even the chill and dread of the dementors’ auras that managed to get through the professors’ patroni put a lull in the conversation.

Hydrus and Ron, for their part, listened on with only a polite amount of interest. They didn’t much care for Fudge either, but neither of them were nearly as set on trying to get rid of the man as Hermione and Draco were. As far as they were concerned, his failure of a record would be more than enough to keep him from being reelected at the end of his current term. There was no need to expedite the process with inquiries or a vote of no confidence. That and government takeovers really weren’t something third years were equipped to plan.

“Come on,” Ron interrupted them once they were officially in Hogsmeade, “let’s get to Honeydukes before some mad rush comes in and buys up all the chocolate.”

That was enough to get Hermione and Draco to stop their plotting and get them properly excited about their very first Hogsmeade weekend.

Hydrus decided immediately upon stepping foot in Honeydukes that it was the greatest shop in the entire world. Never in his life had he seen so many sweets. All kinds of confections were piled high in every corner of the shop, some so precariously placed that Hydrus half suspected magic was being used to keep them falling. Chocolates and fudges and all manner of novelty candies could be found in the tightly packed aisles, each and every brightly colored package jumping out for his attention. Yet, despite the way Honeydukes seemed to be bursting with inventory, it didn’t feel at all crowded. Instead, it filled the place with an entertaining sort of whimsy that Hydrus found charming.

“Blood pops?” he heard Hermione say from beside him, a hint of alarm in her voice. “You don’t think they’re made with real blood, do you?”

“No idea,” Hydrus admitted with a shrug. He had a feeling he was better off not knowing.

With a slight grimace, Hermione put the package of blood pops back where she’d found them. She seemed to have decided that she didn’t want to know the answer either.

Hardly a moment later, Ron ran up to them and excitedly asked: “Have you guys seen the every fruit lollies?”

Hydrus shook his head. “No, I haven’t,” he replied. “Are they anything like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?” He hoped they weren’t, as he thought those were the among the most disgusting sweets he’d ever had the misfortune of tasting, but he didn’t dare hold his breath.

“Nope,” said Ron, popping the ‘p’. “They’re lollipops that change which fruit flavor they are every minute or so. The only flavor you know for certain you’ll get is the very first one.”

Hydrus frowned. As entertaining as magical candy could be, he sometimes wished there were more normal options. He didn’t need flavor-changing lollipops or jellybeans that tasted like grass and charcoal. Weren’t regular lollipops and jellybeans enough? And where were the gummies? He’d kill for a nice, big bag of gummy bears—preferably ones that came in the standard list of muggle flavors.

“Why would anyone want a lollipop that changes flavors like that?” Hermione asked, voicing the question that both twins wanted answered. “Wouldn’t it be more enjoyable to know that you’re getting a strawberry lollipop that will stay strawberry the whole time without worrying when it’ll change to kiwi or apple?”

Ron cocked his head to the side, confused. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Hermione, it turned out, had a whole list of reasons why plain, muggle candy was just as fun as magical candy.

In the end, Hydrus and his friends managed to get a respectable haul from Honeydukes. He and Hermione primarily purchased chocolate, which seemed to be the only candy in the magical world that was consistently without potentially disgusting magical intervention. Draco was a bit more adventurous, having grabbed a few of those fruit lollipops in addition to his own excessively large chocolate purchase. Ron had gotten a mix of all sorts of candies ranging from delicious to downright strange. And Pansy, who they’d run into while she was out with Daphne and Tracey, had purchased a bag of sour candies that put muggle warheads to shame.

But Honeydukes wasn’t the best part of Hogsmeade. That honor belonged to The Three Broomsticks. A quaint little pub with a menu of mostly muggle comfort foods and an extensive list of magical beverages, it was the perfect place to stop at after a long day of walking around the village. Hydrus and his friends, a group that had only gotten larger the longer they stayed in Hogsmeade, pushed a couple of tables together so that they could all talk about the highlights of their day over a bottle of butterbeer before returning to Hogwarts.

“There’s only one thing Hogsmeade is missing,” Tracey Davis had declared halfway through her butterbeer, “and that’s a pet supplies shop. Even if they didn’t want to sell actual animals, they should have something so that people up at the school can get food and toys and treats to bring back to the castle for their pets.”

“Just because _you_ already ran out of owl treats…” Daphne drawled in a teasing tone.

Even though Hydrus agreed with Tracey that a pet supplies shop would be a wonderful addition to the village, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Daphne’s retort. He could only assume they’d had some similarly related conversation not too long ago.

Tracey rolled her eyes at her friend. “Anyway, as I was saying, a pet supplies shop would be a great addition to Hogsmeade.”

“And going into a shop is so much nicer than having to owl order everything,” Hermione agreed, sounding like she was about to start one of her very informative but too wordy lectures. “Crookshanks is quite aggressive with his toys, and I’d rather be able to see how durable something is before deciding whether or not to buy it for him. I don’t want to waste my money on subpar materials that I didn’t get to inspect beforehand.”

“Exactly!” Tracey said triumphantly.

“Plus it’d make it easier for me to spoil Iris,” Pansy added.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Hydrus replied, dragged into the conversation at the mention of his snake. “She gets spoiled enough without you having a pet shop nearby for you to buy her presents.”

Pansy pouted dramatically, as if the mere suggestion of not spoiling the snake was the most devastating thing anyone would possibly say to her. “What can I say? Iris deserves everything and more.”

Hydrus rolled his eyes. “She already has that.”

The young teens continued their banter back and forth all the way up until the professors began calling for the students to return to the castle. Bellies full and coin pouches empty, they made they trek back to Hogwarts feeling fully satisfied with their first outing into Hogsmeade. Hydrus could hardly wait for the next opportunity to visit the village.

*****

After all the sweets he’d eaten in Hogsmeade, Hydrus barely had any room left in his stomach for the Halloween feast. Chocolate and butterbeer might not have made for a nutritious lunch, but they sure had been a wonderful mid-day treat, and his overindulgence almost seemed worth the slight stomach ache. But even with the uncomfortably full feeling settling in his stomach, he still couldn’t help but daydream about the desserts that would be available at the feast. He supposed it was a good thing he wouldn’t be staying for the duration of the feast, or else he might give into the temptation to eat himself sick.

In the end, Hydrus only stayed at the Halloween feast long enough to see his friends and eat some real food—chicken and potatoes and green beans and even a few Brussels sprouts at Pansy’s insistence. He’d managed to sneak a bit of treacle tart as well, though he instantly regretted his decision when his stomach once again began to protest the amount of sugar it was being forced to digest.

Once he’d finished his plate, Hydrus was joined by Hermione and Dade, and the three of them made their way to Father’s quarters. They planned to have a small, family get-together for Samhain since Hogwarts still didn’t offer an official celebration for the ancient holiday. It wouldn’t be as educational as the hybrid lesson and celebration hosted by Professor Prince last year, but there was no doubt in Hydrus’ mind that it would be far more enjoyable anyway.

“Come in,” said his father when Hydrus knocked on the door to his personal quarters.

The three young teens filed into the room to see an assortment of stones, several divining tools, and a fire pit constructed in the middle of the living room. A fire burned in the pit, slow and flickering and emitting a hazy, gray smoke. Apples had been piled onto a tray on top of the end table that sat between the cozy, forest green couch and the matching armchair. Several carved turnips and pumpkins decorated the space as well, though Hydrus suspected his father had only included them for the creep factor that such intricate, alarmed faces added to the ambiance.

But perhaps the most surprising aspect of the entire set-up was an altar lined with paintings and photographs. Lily Evans-Potter. James Potter. Merope Gaunt. Salazar Slytherin. Those who had touched the lives of their family in a profound way, even in the absence. Death’s reaping of their souls was not the end of their ability to impact those they left behind.

“Did the three of you have a good time at the feast?” Father asked as he strode from his office and entered the sitting room.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione replied easily. “The food was just as wonderful as always. I only wish I hadn’t eaten so many sweets beforehand so that I could properly enjoy it.”

Father smiled, bemused. “Ah, the joys of one’s first Hogsmeade visit. I remember all too well the temptation of over-indulging in Honeydukes’ sweets.”

Hydrus had a hard time picturing his father over-indulging in anything at all, but he supposed the man couldn’t have spent his entire life as calm and in control as he is now. After all, he was only human—even if he _was_ an unusually powerful one. It only made sense that he’d acted like any other thirteen year old back when he was one.

After a bit more catching up, the Gaunt family began their Samhain celebrations, which proved to be both a somber and uplifting affair. Paying their respects to their family’s notable dead had been particularly draining, and, by the time they turned their attention to Lily Potter, Hydrus was overcome with intense emotion for his almost-mother and Hermione had burst into tears. Father was just as strongly affected as the twins, but he kept it together far better than them.

“I wish I could have had the chance to meet her,” Dade had quietly admitted, his eyes locked on her photograph. “She was my aunt, but, even if she’d lived on, I know my mum never would have refused to let her anywhere near me.”

Hydrus patted his cousin on the shoulder, unsure of what else to do.

“Lily could see the beauty in all things, no matter how seemingly dark or dangerous or hideous,” Father said fondly. “Her compassion knew no bounds. And yet, even with her kind soul, she had the heart of a revolutionary. She wanted so very much to change the world, even though she didn’t agree with any of those vying for leadership in her lifetime.” He shook his head, seemingly lost in a memory. “I don’t doubt that she could have taken over the entire wizarding world if she’d wanted to.”

“Uncle Remus once told me she had a temper like a mother dragon,” Hydrus said, wishing he could remember if that temper had ever come out in defense of him when she thought him her son.

Father let out an amused huff. “She did indeed, and she didn’t need to breathe fire in order to protect those who were hers. She felt everything so strongly, so passionately, like a flame come to life.”

_A flame come to life_. Hydrus could imagine it so well that it almost felt like a memory—a vibrant redheaded woman with an unbreakable spirit and passion spilling out of her like sparks from a bonfire.

“She must’ve been incredible,” Hermione said wistfully.

“She was,” Father agreed, “and more.”

The deafening screech of an alarm put an end to their reminiscing, seizing their muscles and sending every hair on their necks on edge in the process. Hydrus couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but hope the alarm would stop soon.

“Hogwarts is now under lockdown,” announced Professor McGonagall through every corner of the castle, putting an end to the alarm’s terrifying screeching. “Students must return to their dorms immediately.”

After a beat of alarmed silence, Father told them: “I don’t care what the headmistress says. The three of you will be staying here for the duration of the lockdown.”

Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade all nodded in agreement. None of them wanted to leave the safety of Father’s quarters to make the trip back to their dormitories alone.

“Good,” Father continued when he noted that no one had any objections. “I’ll send a message to Minerva to let her know you three are accounted for.”

Almost as soon as Father finished sending off his message to the headmistress, a silvery patronus in the shape of a grim bounded toward Father. “Portraits have reported a suspicious rat heading toward the headmistress’ office,” the grim explained in the voice of Professor Lupin. “All hands on deck to apprehend the intruder.”

A jolt of panic seized Hydrus. Sightings of a suspicious rat could only mean one thing: Peter Pettigrew had gotten into the castle.

How could it have happened? All the secret passages that the Marauders had discovered during their years at Hogwarts had been sealed off in the wake of Dumbledore’s first attempt to break into the castle over the summer. Even the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack—which had hosted Professor Lupin’s monthly transformations last year—had been blocked off as a safety precaution, leading Lupin to undergo his transformations in the Room of Requirement. By all accounts, there shouldn’t be a single unguarded entrance to the castle for Pettigrew to slip through.

Father seemed to be of the same mind as Hydrus. “I’m adding parsel wards to the door when I leave,” he told them. “No one will be able to get in, but no one will be able to get out either. Don’t you dare try testing the wards.” Not bothering to wait for a response, he stormed out of his quarters, wand in hand and a determined expression on his face. 

“So the rat’s definitely Pettigrew, right?” Dade hesitantly asked after a beat of silence.

Hermione nodded. “Almost certainly. I mean, there can’t be many rats out there deemed suspicious, now can there? Not unless…”

“Unless?” Dade repeated with baited breath.

Hydrus, however, knew exactly where his sister’s train of thought was headed. “I highly doubt there’s a secondary rat related threat that the adults have been keeping from us this whole time, Hermione. Besides, they wouldn’t want to use the same codename for two different people. That’s bound to get confusing.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” Hermione replied, though the nervous edge to her voice betrayed that she wasn’t entirely convinced. “It’s just… well… the chances of Pettigrew getting into the castle are so slim. What if there’s some similar threat from inside the castle?”

“I’m not entirely convinced that it would be difficult for Pettigrew to get in the castle, if I’m being completely honest,” Dade admitted. “Who’s to say he didn’t pretend to be some friendly rat that some poor, unsuspecting student in Hogsmeade decided to keep as a pet? That’s basically what he did to get past the wards around the Burrow, isn’t it?”

A cold knot of dread twisted in Hydrus’ gut. Dade was absolutely right. Hogwarts could take every possible precaution against outside invaders, but they would always be powerless to put a stop to those who had been invited inside.

Hydrus wondered if Pettigrew was acting on Dumbledore’s orders. The former headmaster had been unsuccessful in his attempts to penetrate the castle’s defenses over the summer, and now, with the addition of the dementors, there was no chance of him getting in. But who would suspect a seemingly harmless little rat? Who would even know to be on guard around rodents? They were such small, unassuming creatures—not unlike Pettigrew himself. It would be all too easy for Pettigrew to get inside the castle and either carry out whatever Dumbledore’s plans were or else lower the school’s defenses so that Dumbledore could enter.

“You know what,” Hermione said darkly, “I hope someone’s kneazle eats the little bastard.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but agree. It was what he deserved.


	9. A Grim Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hydrus and his friends encounter a grim. he isn't nearly as ominous as the divination students think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own these characters  
> 2\. italics are yoinked from poa

Father didn’t return from the school-wide search for Peter Pettigrew until nearly two in the morning. Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade had stayed up waiting for him the entire time, too worried about what was going on to get any rest. And even when he did return, exhausted and shaking his head, sleep was still difficult to achieve. To know that Pettigrew had made it into the school undetected and escaped without a trace unsettled the young teens to their very core.

The worst part was not knowing for certain if Pettigrew was still in the castle or if he had left. Hogwarts was massive, and there were countless places for a rat to hide if one did indeed wish to remain hidden. He could very well be hiding under a desk in some abandoned classroom or running around inside the walls. The mere thought of him remaining, skulking in the shadows in his rat form, set everyone on edge.

None of the professors spoke openly about their worries about where in the world Pettigrew might be and whether his break-in was related to Dumbledore, but it was clear from the anxious whispers and dark circles under all their eyes that those worries were always on their minds. Hydrus could even feel some of the surface thoughts emanating from the staff members, most of whom carefully occluded more often than not. They all had the exact same thing on their minds: fear that the current security measures weren't enough.

It came as a relief when, two days later, Defense Against the Dark Arts was once again on Hydrus’ schedule. Professor Lupin would still be recovering from the previous night’s full moon, but seventh year tutors were always available on days he was absent. Surely a N.E.W.T. level student would be able to help Hydrus and his fellow third years learn what they needed to protect themselves from a threat like Peter Pettigrew.

But it wasn’t a seventh year tutor standing at the front of the classroom when Hydrus and his friends arrived. It was Professor Prince.

“I’m sure you were all expecting some teenager to stand up here and supervise as you worked on homework or essays or what have you,” the Potions professor began in a low drawl. “However, in light of recent events, both Professor Lupin and myself felt it was of the utmost importance that you all learn how to spot the differences between animals, animagi, and were-creatures as soon as possible. It simply cannot wait until he has finished recovering from the full moon. So… if you would all turn to page 394.”

The rustling of textbook pages soon filled the room. Everyone was eager to hear this particular lecture.

Professor Prince scanned the classroom, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips—clearly pleased to see everyone so attentive. “Before we begin, can anyone tell me the difference between an animagus and a were-creature?” he asked.

Vince tentatively raised his hand, a sight so rare that both Theo and Parvati both lowered their own raised hands to ensure that Vince would be called on.

“Yes, Mr. Crabbe?” Professor Prince called out.

“All species of were-creatures have at least one regularly occurring involuntary transformation, such as the full moon transformations of werewolves,” Vince replied, his confidence slowly building with each word that left his mouth. “Animagi transformations are a voluntary act of self-transfiguration that tends to result in at least one unusual marking that resembles some characteristic of their human form.”

Hydrus was blown away. He knew Vince liked learning about creatures just as much as Dade, but he’d hardly expected to hear a Hermione-worthy answer out of someone so quiet and self-conscious.

Professor Snape looked just as impressed as Hydrus felt. “Very good, Mr. Crabbe,” he said, sounding almost like he couldn’t believe his mouth was forming that particular sentence. “Five points to Slytherin for such a thorough answer.”

Vince smiled shyly and returned his attention to the open book in front of him.

“Ms. Brown?”

Professor Prince calling out Lavender’s last name alerted Hydrus and the rest of the class to the bubbly Gryffindor’s raised hand. “Sir, can you give us an example of what sort of unusual markings an animagus has?” she asked, her voice taking on the slight timidity of someone who was afraid of sounding stupid.

The Potions professor, however, didn’t look like he thought it was a stupid question at all. “Of course, Ms. Brown,” he assured her. “As you all know, Professor McGonagall is a tabby cat animagus. From far away, she looks like any other tabby, but, if you get close enough, you’ll see that she has black markings around her eyes that take on the exact shape of her eyeglasses.”

Lavender nodded, seemingly satisfied with that explanation.

Now that Hydrus thought about it, Sirius had a few telltale markings as well. The fur on the belly of his grim form was just light enough that, if one took the time to look, they would see the faint outlines of the runic tattoos that covered his chest and stomach.

As if on cue, the giant, wolfish grim bounded into the Defense classroom and joined Professor Prince’s side by the chalkboard.

Hydrus and Draco chuckled at their uncle’s antics, but the same could not be said for the rest of the class. Instead, panicked screams about omens and death filled the room—the loudest of which came from those unlucky students who took Divination.

“The grim!” Lavender cried, pointing an accusing finger at Sirius.

“Professor Trelawney was right!” Parvati lamented. “Now we’ve all been doomed!”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Grims are apparitions, and that thing’s solid,” she scolded the Gryffindor girls. “That’s probably Professor Lupin in his werewolf form.”

Hydrus had all but forgotten that, while his friends knew Sirius was an animagus, they had never actually seen him in this form. While Pansy was clearly trying to calm herself with the idea that the beast in the front of the room was just a werewolf, her claim had only served to put Blaise and Theo further on edge. Sirius must have been quite a terrifying sight for those who weren’t in the know given how everyone was acting.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Black!” Professor Prince growled at the grim. “Change back before I have to start administering Calming Draughts to my students!”

Without another word, the grim morphed into the visage of Sirius. “Hello, everyone,” he said with a grin. “I’m Sirius Black, and I’m here to help with today’s lesson.”

The room fell silent. No one wanted to acknowledge the near pandemonium that had just swept through the entire room, especially not now that they knew it was only a dog animagus that had frightened them so much.

“Seeing as you have all failed to properly identify an animagus in this… impromptu demonstration,” Professor Prince said silkily, despite glaring daggers at Sirius for upsetting the students, “why don’t we start with the absolute basics?”

For the next fifteen minutes, the lecture was indeed basic—almost painfully so. Professor Prince talked to them like they were all confused first years enduring their very first Defense lesson. Hydrus wanted to feel indignant about the manner in which they were being spoken to, but, as there was quite a bit of basic information that was brand-new to him, he supposed he didn’t have a choice but to begrudgingly accept that their professor had every right to assume they didn’t know anything.

“Now,” began Professor Prince once he’d finally, mercifully wrapped up the introductory material, “Lord Black has so graciously offered his time today to educate you on the differences between werewolves, real wolves, and wolf animagi. Why Headmistress McGonagall thought it appropriate to allow him anywhere near a classroom after his own dismal seven years as a student is entirely beyond me, but, nevertheless, he does have plenty of _up close and personal_ experience—” he cast Sirius a knowing look “—with werewolves that makes him somewhat of an expert on the topic.”

“Thank you, my dearest brother-in-law, for that ringing endorsement,” Sirius snarked, his fingers twitching for his wand like he wanted to exchange hexes with the potions master like they did during their verbal spars at home. “It’s no wonder you managed to win over my brother’s affection, considering your… unique personality.”

Hydrus was impressed by Sirius’ retort. He usually got riled up far too quickly to come up with a coherent jab, but this one had been truly masterful. It must be the influence of Uncle Reggie and Aunt Narcissa. No one else in the family had quite that level of mastery over their witty insults.

“Do they always talk to each other like that?” Pansy whispered from the desk beside him.

Hydrus shook his head. “No, there’s usually a lot more cursing involved,” he admitted.

Pansy gave an approving and slightly worrying grin. “Wicked.”

Hydrus wasn’t sure how to feel about Pansy’s response, but, for some reason, nervousness seemed the most appropriate.

The rest of the lesson passed without incident, although there was plenty of bickering between Sirius and Professor Prince. Hydrus suspected that, even though they were on considerably improved terms these days, neither man knew how to interact with other without insults, hexes, and an undercurrent of playful hostility. They’d simply spent too long believing themselves to be great rivals to be fully civil towards one another.

That didn’t mean that they couldn’t work together well. In fact, their decades of familiarity combined with their drastically different presentation styles made them quite the team. By the time class was dismissed, Hydrus felt like he’d learned everything there was to know about werewolves and animagi, and that the lesson was something he’d never forget.

Blaise, however, wasn’t nearly as impressed as the rest of the Slytherins. “As informative as all of that was, I don’t see how any of that will help us against the likes of Pettigrew,” he lamented. “If any of us get close enough to a rat to notice its missing finger, it’ll be way too late.”

Before Hydrus could concede that Blaise had a point, Theo spoke up. “I think it’s safe to say that most of us would draw our wands at the sight of a rat regardless.”

“Definitely,” Draco readily agreed. “The fancy little rats at pet shops are fine, but the wild ones are nasty little creatures. I wouldn’t want one of those disease-ridden vermin anywhere near me.”

“Our policy should be to kill all rats on sight until further notice,” Pansy decided, a vicious gleam in her eyes. “Or, at the very least, we should capture them for either Crookshanks or Iris to eat.”

“That’s a bit dark,” Blaise said far too casually for it to be natural.

Pansy shrugged. “It’s better than waiting to see if the rat has a missing finger before attacking.”

“You know, I don’t think anyone expects any of us to actually go out and attack Pettigrew,” Hydrus stated skeptically. “Quite the opposite, really.” His father would likely ground him for all eternity if he tried.

“Right. Of course. And we won’t,” came Pansy’s unconvincing reply.

“It’s just a precautionary measure,” Draco agreed. “We’d just be doing the whole school a favor by getting rid of any rodents we have the misfortune of coming across.”

Hydrus had a hard time believing his friends. While Draco might genuinely just hate rats, Pansy was nearly as bloodthirst and vengeful as Hermione and Mum. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she’d go after Pettigrew herself if presented with the opportunity. For all he knew, she and Hermione had already made plans to do exactly that.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything intentionally reckless,” Hydrus finally said, knowing he wouldn’t have a chance of dissuading anyone.

Draco looked aghast at the mere thought of doing something reckless. “Obviously,” he drawled. “As if I’d ever want to get involved with something like that.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t chase after the rat if I see him,” admitted Theo, surprising everyone. “What?” he asked at their gaping mouths. “He’s Dumbledore’ accomplice. He sold out the Potters. It’s nothing less than he deserves.”

“I’m with Theo,” Pansy said, a steely determination in her voice. “I won’t seek Pettigrew out, but I won’t pass up a chance to attack him either.”

Blaise threw his hands in the air. “You’re both crazy!” he told them. “He’s already killed thirteen people all in one go. A couple of third years won’t stand a chance against him.”

Pansy only grinned. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

*****

As the weekend grew closer, the young Slytherins had a new reason to be on edge: quidditch. Saturday was the first game of the year, and it was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. It was also the very first game that Draco and Millicent would playing in as part of Slytherin’s house team. Both the girls’ and boys’ third year dorms were subjected to their own vastly different but no less distracting nervous newbie. Millicent had gone even quieter than usual, and had taken to pacing in a futile attempt to burn off her nervous energy. Draco, on the other hand, was terribly vocal about his pre-game anxiety.

“What if I fall off my broom in front of the whole school?” he’d asked suddenly in the middle of dinner on Friday. “I’d never live down the shame. Slytherin would probably kick me out of the house forever.”

Hydrus blinked slowly. He couldn’t understand why Draco’s nerves were getting so bad. “Draco, you’re my cousin and I love you, but that's the dumbest thing you’ve ever said in your entire life.”

“Have you ever even fallen off your broom?” Blaise asked.

Draco’s cheeks tinged pink. “Well, no, but—”

“Then it’s not an issue,” Hydrus and Blaise said almost in unison.

“Even if you _did_ fall off your broom,” Theo added, “you’d still have done a better job than Gryffindor’s embarrassment of a seeker.”

Draco snorted. “Clement really does suck, doesn’t he?”

The rest of dinner had been relatively peaceful after that.

Now, though, was the morning of the match, and most of the student body was just as nervous as the players. A storm had begun in the middle of the night and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. The grounds were water-logged and the air chilly, and the very atmosphere of the world beyond the safety of the castle gates was tinged with foreboding.

Only Ron seemed to take no notice of the storm outside, cheerily stuffing his face and chattering on about all the major strengths and weaknesses of both teams. “Obviously Griffyndor’s keeper is the most talented member of their team—and probably the best keeper in the team’s history—but their seeker leaves much to be desired,” he explained at breakfast between bites of bacon. They were all sitting at the Slytherin table in support of Draco and Millicent even though the both of them had already headed down to the pitch to get ready for the match. “And don’t even get me started on their beaters. I mean, they’re fine I guess, but they’ve got nothing on Fred and George.”

Fred and George were beaters for the Ravenclaw team, and they shamelessly used their twin link to better coordinate bludger redirects—not that any non-twin students would ever realize it.

“But their chasers are quite good,” Hermione added, “or so I hear.”

Ron shrugged. “They’re all okay on their own, but they do work really well as a team,” he conceded. “I doubt that’ll be enough to beat Slytherin though.”

“Definitely not,” Hydrus agreed. He didn’t actually know all that much about the Gryffindor team, but he had a gut feeling that Slytherin was going to win.

The rest of breakfast centered around Ron explaining all sorts of strategies the two teams might utilize in order to win, while Hydrus listened on. Blaise, Theo, and Tracey occasionally added their own strategic data as well—with Tracey surprising everyone by being the only one who came close to being as knowledgeable about quidditch plays as Ron. Vince and Greg nodded along in silent agreement, occasionally voicing their support of Millicent whenever the subject of beaters came up.

Hermione, Pansy, and Daphne, however, were just interested in seeing Slytherin win. They didn’t care at all about how it was done or what strategies might be utilized. The only thing that mattered was crushing Gryffindor.

“Are you all ready to head down to the pitch?” Ron asked excitedly as the plates on the table vanished, signaling the end of breakfast.

Hydrus nodded. “Definitely.”

Several others voiced their agreement, a number of which contained impassioned support of the Slytherin house team. 

“Do we really have to?” Hermione hesitantly asked. “The weather’s terrible. What if we end up catching a cold?”

Ron looked positively scandalized. “Of course we have to!” he insisted. “It’s Draco and Millicent’s first game as seeker. And besides, it’s not so bad out. Just a bit of rain, really.”

Hydrus liked quidditch just as much as the next person, but he couldn’t find it in himself to agree with Ron’s assessment that the torrential downpour outside was “just a bit of rain.” The wind was howling, the sky had dimmed to a dark, purplish-gray, and fat drops of freezing rain fell from the sky like bullets. The only thing missing was great, big bolts of lighting to intermittently set the horizon ablaze with blinding white light.

Despite the horrific weather, students poured out of the castle gates and toward the quidditch pitch, an interesting array of charms and umbrellas and raincoats granting them varying levels of protection from the downpour. Some of the older years had even taken to using Bubble Head Charms so that they could breathe without inhaling the rain. It seemed unreal to Hydrus that people would go to such lengths just for a school quidditch game. Wouldn’t it have been safer for everyone involved to postpone for a week?

Nevertheless, Hydrus and his friends made their way to the quidditch pitch along with the rest of the school—Hermione double and triple checking that everyone was properly protected from the inclement weather. 

“You traitor!”

Hydrus jumped at Seamus’ shout. What happened? Was everyone okay? Who was this traitor, what did they do? Slowly, hesitantly, he turned around to see—

Professor Lupin had on a Gryffindor scarf… and a small Slytherin pin on his jacket. Sirius stood beside him, covered head to toe in garb from both houses, looking very much like Christmas had vomited all over him due to all the red and green.

It was then that Hydrus realized Seamus hadn’t had any malice in his voice. Instead, the Irishman wore a big, teasing grin. He’d just been giving his head of house grief over wearing something in support of the opposing team.

Professor Lupin chuckled at Seamus’ amused accusation. “If it makes you feel any better, Seamus, I don’t truly want Slytherin to win,” he admitted. “I’m just trying to be supportive of my nephew.”

“I want them to win!” Sirius exclaimed, and then grimaced. “And you have no idea how much it pains me to say that.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Professor Lupin teased him.

Sirius pouted at his husband. “I’m not being dramatic. It just physically pains me to root for Slytherin after playing beater for Gryffindor for four years.”

Professor Lupin snorted in amusement, and Hydrus couldn’t help but feel amused by his uncle’s antics as well.

“It’s probably for the best that you root for Slytherin anyway,” Seamus told Sirius. “I mean, Gryffindor certainly wouldn’t want to be jinxed by having a grim on their side. That has to be some sort of bad omen.”

“I’m not an omen!” Sirius insisted, causing everyone in hearing distance to laugh. “What? I’m not. I’m just an animagus.”

“Of course, dear,” Remus replied with a feigned put-upon sigh.

“It’s okay, Sirius. I know you’re not an omen,” Hermione assured him in a matter-of-fact voice. She didn’t even believe in omens or much of anything else related to divining the future—except in the case of whatever it was Luna would try to communicate to her. In fact, she had told just about anyone who’d listen that Luna was the only real Seer in the school and that Trelawney was faking it.

Sirius gave her a lopsided grin. “In that case,” he said, making his way over toward her, “I think I’ll sit with my dear niece for the game so that I can be free of these ridiculous accusations.”

It was a bit awkward to sit in the Slytherin stands under a torrential downpour with one’s formerly Gryffindor uncle, but Hydrus and Hermione managed just fine. Their friends, however, took a bit longer to warm up to the idea. They didn’t know what to make of Sirius, and, for the first half hour of the game, treated him like they would any respectable adult.

The problem with that was that Sirius had never once in his life thought of himself as respectable or an adult. Being treated as anything with more prestige than a Marauder or weird uncle was entirely new territory for him. He kept trying to get all the young teens to act more casually with them, but it took more than a bit of silliness for Hydrus’ friends to forget their manners around an adult.

Finally, the pureblood masks were dropped when, after a blatantly obvious foul went missed by Madame Hooch, Sirius shouted: “Bloody buggering hell! What in Merlin’s saggy tits is Hooch thinking?” Slowly, and then all at once, the young Slytherins began laughing hard at Sirius’ absurdly vulgar language—as thirteen year olds are prone to doing. From that moment on, Sirius was no longer an adult they had to behave around. He was one of them.

And then, something strange started happening. The game was going on just as enthusiastically as ever, but some of the spectators had suddenly lost interest. They were shivering and shaking and staring at the ground as if it had become the most interesting thing in the entire world.

“Does anyone else feel a bit… strange?” Sirius asked a bit hesitantly.

Hydrus shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was affected. He felt a little bit colder than a few minutes ago, but he’d assumed it was a byproduct of the terrible weather. 

“No,” Hermione said. “I don’t think so.”

_But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was flailing across the stadium. The wind, though strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as if someone had turned off the sound, as though Hydrus had suddenly gone deaf—what was going on?_

Almost as soon as the question had formed in Hydrus’ mind, he regretted it, for the answer was far worse than he could have possibly imagined. An icy chill that had nothing to do with the rain came over him, freezing him to the bone and setting the hairs on his neck on end. He’d recognize that feeling anywhere.

An entire fleet of dementors, far more than Hydrus could remember being stationed at the school, had begun circling in on the quidditch pitch and the surrounding stands. _It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again… Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head…_

Uncle Vernon.

Somehow, by some horrible twist of fate, Hydrus found himself once again locked up inside the cupboard under the stairs. Uncle Vernon was banging on the door over and over, threatening him that, if he didn’t get up soon, he’d be hit far, far harder than the pounding the door was getting. Aunt Petunia was laughing shrilly at the sight, delighted to see her worthless freak nephew so utterly terrified. The scratching sounds of a key scraped inside the multiple locks on the cupboard and then—

Nothing.

*****

“I was so worried when he hit his head.”

“His head? I was more afraid his soul would be sucked out!”

“They weren’t nearly close enough for that.”

“You never know!”

The worried, hushed voices in the hazy darkness weren’t making any sense. What did his soul have to do with anything? Uncle Vernon must’ve knocked him out again, and now he was imaging all sorts of strange things. Funny, he couldn’t remember a single thing after his uncle’s shouting…

_”That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”_

_Scariest… the scariest thing… hooded black figures… cold… screaming…_

Hydrus’ eyes flew open and took in the familiar surroundings. It was all coming back to him now. The quidditch match. The dementors. Feeling trapped in yet another horrible memory of Privet Drive. 

But it was over now. It was all over. Hydrus was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, not in a cupboard under the stairs in Surrey. The Dursleys were languishing in Azkaban, just as they had been for nearly two years now. He was safe.

“What happened?” he asked, blinking his eyes until the blurry silhouettes around him sharpened into the likeness of his friends.

“You fell and hit your head,” said Hermione at the same time that Ron exclaimed: “Hydrus! How are you?”

Hydrus groaned. “Not so good with loud noises, as it turns out,” he replied, causing Ron’s cheeks to flush. “I take it that’s a side effect of hitting my head?”

Hermione nodded. “Most likely. We all thought you lost your balance at first, but the next thing we knew you were falling forward and smacked your head off the bannister before anyone could catch you.”

That explained the throbbing pain on the right side of his forehead. “Is everyone else okay?” he asked.

“Eh…”

“Well, the thing is…”

“What?” he snapped. “Who’s hurt?”

Hermione was the first to cave. “Sirius had to be escorted to St. Mungo’s,” she confessed. “He was able to keep the dementors away with a patronus for a little while, but there were just too many.”

“He ended up having some kind of… nervous breakdown or something,” Ron added, nervously chewing on his lower lip. “Just shut down and stopped moving or speaking.”

“And then Pansy had a panic attack because she thought he’d been Kissed,” Hermione continued. The words were coming out fast and faster, and she looked like she was about to cry. “Madame Pomfrey tried giving her a Calming Draught to stop her from hyperventilating, but it wasn’t enough, so she had to sedate her.”

With a considerable amount of difficulty, Hydrus sat up and looked around the Hospital Wing until he found Pansy. She was indeed sedated, looking quite peaceful in her induced sleep. He shuddered to think what her reaction would be once she came to. No doubt she’d end up even more disoriented than she was before the potion had been administered.

“Draco blames himself for everything, the idiot,” Ron said quietly. “That’s why he’s not here with us. He’s got it in his head that no one would’ve gotten hurt if we hadn’t gone out and watched the match to support him.”

Hydrus felt a stab of righteous anger at the thought of his cousin feeling guilty. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! How can he possibly… I mean it’s not like the he controls the dementors… I don’t even think—”

“It’s Draco,” Hermione said by way of explanation.

Hydrus conceded that she had a point. Draco was incapable of functioning without a frankly unhealthy need for control over any and all situations, especially ones he couldn’t explain. It was entirely in his nature to assume he deserved some level of blame. It also meant that, sooner or later, Hogwarts would be flooded with Blacks and Malfoy and Lestranges who had all heard from Draco. He was probably writing them all letters at this very moment.

Before he could worry too much about his family invading the castle, a dark figure soaked through with rain and mud and some glistening sort of black viscera stormed into the Hospital Wing. He was so dirty and disheveled and _furious_ that, were it not for the burning crimson eyes, Hydrus wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

“Father?” he asked warily. “What happened to you?”

“Huh?” Hydrus’ question snapped him out of his anger, and a worry quickly took its place. “Oh, this?” He gestured to the mess on his robes. “Nothing much, really. I just killed one of the dementors.”

“YOU WHAT!?” Hermione shrieked. “But… that’s not… no one knows how to kill a dementor. It’s not supposed to be possible. How on earth did you…?”

Something dangerous flickered in their father’s eyes. “It went after my son. I just did what any concerned parent would do.”

Hydrus had a gut feeling that there was far more to the story than that, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Some things were better left unsaid.


	10. The Marauders' Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the weasley twins realize they have a very powerful tool that might just help them find peter pettigrew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own hp  
> 2\. despite this chapter title, it looks nothing like the canonical chapter with the same name

Hermione’s mind was still reeling from the revelation that her father had in fact killed a supposedly unkillable dementor when she was confronted with an entirely new impossibility: the Marauders’ Map. She had heard Fred and George mention the map plenty of times in passing over the years, but she’d never actually seen it until she stepped foot in the Ravenclaw common room after returning from visiting her brother in the Hospital Wing. The twins had confronted her with it immediately and demanded she take them to Professor Lupin. They had important plans with the map and needed to consult with the map’s makers as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite possible. Professor Lupin had followed Sirius to St. Mungo’s after the dementor invasion during the quidditch match. Sirius had been in terrible shape when Madame Pomfrey transferred him, and Hermione doubted he’d be better any time soon. Professor Lupin would surely stay with his husband until he’d recovered, which meant that, for the time being, there were no Marauders at Hogwarts.

“I bet we could at least get a head start on our investigation,” Fred decided after nearly a half hour of debating back and forth over how to proceed. “We might not be top of the class N.E.W.T. students or anything fancy like that, but we didn’t get sorted into Ravenclaw for nothing.”

George inclined his head in agreement. “It might also help us figure out what we don’t know,” he considered, “and which questions we’ll need to ask. We’d only be wasting Lupin’s time if we showed up without any sort of idea of what we need to learn.”

Hermione agreed with their plan, but there was still one major question on her mind. “What exactly are the two of you trying to do anyway?”

The twins looked at each other and then her. “Track down Peter Pettigrew, of course,” they answered in unison.

With an explanation like that, Hermione could hardly stop herself from volunteering her researching services.

The Marauders’ Map proved to be an extraordinary piece of magic. It tracked the comings and goings of each and every person who entered Hogwarts, and it did so in real time. It accurately displayed all—or nearly all—of the rooms and secret passages in the entirety of a castle that had never before been mapped. By all accounts, no one had compiled a layout of the school since the Founders’ original design plans more than a thousand years ago. It was said that the school was too sentient, too ever-changing, for any mapmaker to pin down its true layout.

Yet the Marauders had managed it. Even secret tunnels to Hogsmeade that no one should have ever been able to discover were illustrated in realistically scaled proportions. Its brilliance was so astounding that Hermione could imagine young adults studying its properties as part of their Charms mastery. She could hardly believe that something so intricate, so impressive, had been created by four trouble-making teenagers.

There was, of course, one glaring drawback to using the map: Peter Pettigrew already knew of its existence. Whether or not he knew anyone had their hands on it was irrelevant. He’d witnessed its creation, had seen the secrets it contained, and, if there was a way to cheat the map, he would know about it.

That was Fred and George’s main concern. They used the map to evade Filch and Mrs. Norris and Professor Prince during their late escapades and while causing mischief, but they’d never before used it to track someone. What if there were ways to hide oneself from the map’s charms? What if it was possible to hide undetected as an animagus? Was there any possibility at all that Pettigrew was hiding in plain sight?

The very idea that Pettigrew might still be in the castle unnerved Hermione to her core. She could understand why Fred and George would want to investigate every possible shortcoming in the map. If it were possible for the rat to hide from the map’s truth, who else would be able to pull off the same feat? Would he share that knowledge with Dumbledore? Hogwarts suddenly didn’t feel very safe at all.

“It doesn’t show pets, you know, so we’ve got no clue how it responds to animagi,” George had told her as they examined the map. “They’re animals in that moment, but are they still human as well?”

Fred grimaced and added: “And it’s not like we’re about to ask McGonagall for a demonstration just to test it.”

“She’d for sure confiscate the map.”

“And then we’d never see it again.”

“All our perfectly laid plans would be put to rest.”

A small part of Hermione felt that Professor McGonagall would be well within her right to take the Marauders’ Map out of the hands of students, but she wisely didn’t mention it. In the wrong hands, the map could do a lot of damage. Anyone could track down any student or professor they wanted, potentially for nefarious purposes. Yet the idea of it being safely in the hands of Fred and George was far more appealing than if it ended up with someone like Filch—or worse, someone who might support Dumbledore. No, it was for the best not to let McGonagall in on the secret of this particular bit of contraband.

It looked like they might just have to wait for Sirius to return from St. Mungo’s after all. Hermione couldn’t think of any other animagi who hung out around the school. Transfiguring oneself into another form was a rare and difficult form of magic that came naturally to very few people, and… 

An idea struck Hermione with the force of a tidal wave. “An animagus is just human transfiguration, right?”

Both twins nodded.

“Then it theoretically shouldn’t matter what kind of human transfiguration you use to test the map,” Hermione posited. “A metamorphmagus could just as easily prove if the map can see through transfigured disguises.”

George’s mouth fell open. “Hermione, you wonderful—”

“Amazing—”

“Terrifying—”

“Genius!” Fred finished.

Hermione blushed. She hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic response. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure if the idea would work. Taking on the appearance of another person might not have the same effect on the map as transforming into an animal, though it may potentially find another weakness in the map’s ability to recognize people. At the very least, though, it might be able to point them in the right direction.

“Who should I transfigure myself into?” she asked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by all the possibilities.

She’d only ever taken on the forms of her brother and Tonks before, but they’d been right in front of her to use as a reference. While she supposed she could try becoming one of them again, she worried she might not be able to pull it off accurately enough without looking at them. What if she got the details just wrong enough that the Marauders’ Map could tell she was an imposter? She needed to pull everything off perfectly or the whole experiment would be ruined.

“Fred,” George decided at the same time Fred replied: “George.” The twins gave each other a curious look and said together: “Surprise us!”

Hermione stared at George and began to concentrate. He and Fred might be identical twins in name, but there were slight differences that made them easy to tell apart once you got to know them. George had just a little more bulk than Fred, and quite a few more freckles on the bridge of his nose. His eyes shined brighter as well, though Hermione had a feeling that was more to do with him having the louder personality of the two. 

It was rather disorienting to mimic the appearance of someone so much taller than her, and Hermione felt a bit off kilter by the time she finished her transfiguration. Her limbs were too long and her point of view unfamiliar, and she suspected she’d be just as horribly clumsy as Tonks were she to try and walk around in this ill-fitting form.

A Cheshire grin spread across George’s lips. “Well, would you look at that,” he said gleefully.

“You two could pass for twins,” Fred told them, trying and failing to maintain a veneer of seriousness.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” George exclaimed in mock scandal. “How could you have forgotten about our triplet? What would Mum say if she knew you were being so rude to our beloved Herman Weasley?”

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, Freddie,” she said in her best imitation of George’s voice. “How could you forget about good old Herman?”

Fred laughed so hard that he held onto George in order to stay upright—only to end up dragging his twin onto the floor with him. Hermione was overcome by her own fit of laughter upon seeing them on the ground in hysterics. Luckily, she was close enough to one of the couches so that she could save herself from suffering the same fate as them.

“Oh no! There are three of them now,” complained some fourth year girl that Hermione was pretty sure went by the name Marietta Edgecomb.

This set off Fred and George into yet another round of uncontrollable laughter, with intermittent mutterings of pranks and plans breaking through their gasping breaths. Hermione had a feeling they’d be asking her to use her ability to help them with their pranks in the near future.

“How could—” Fred inhaled sharply between giggles “—how could you forget about our triplet Herman, Marietta?”

George snorted and patted his brother on the shoulder. “And here I thought _everyone_ knew about Herman Weasley!”

Marietta didn’t look half as amused as Fred and George felt—not that Hermione could blame her. It was hard enough for others to keep the twins apart without a third identical person added into the mix. Besides, with Marietta’s superior, standoffish personality, she was one of the few people who didn’t find the Weasley twins entertaining. The mere thought that there might be more of them was certain to have bothered her.

“Hello, Hermione,” came a distant, twinkling voice like windchimes from behind her. “Your new face looks quite a bit like George, doesn’t it?”

Hermione turned to see Luna Lovegood staring up at her with big, pale eyes and a seemingly vacant expression that Hermione had since discovered was a sign that the blonde was Seeing something. She looked a bit lost and a bit too wise and almost like she was looking right into Hermione’s soul.

“How could you tell Hermione was George and not me?” Fred asked, finally picking himself and George up off the floor.

“Most people would have never gotten it right,” George added. “Then again, most people can’t even tell me and Fred apart, and we don’t look anything alike.”

Hermione snorted. There might be some minor differences, but she wouldn’t have gone _that_ far. It also didn’t help that they had a tendency to borrow one another’s names in order to trick those who hadn’t already learned to tell who was who.

“They can’t?” Luna inquired.

“Nope,” Hermione replied, popping the ‘p’. “You and I are among only a few people who can tell which is Fred and which is George.”

Luna cocked her head to the side, confused. “But isn’t it so very obvious?” she asked. “They both have such different looking magic, and, even with George’s face, yours is still the most distinguishable of all. I can’t imagine anyone confusing you for one another.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. Seeing a person’s magic was an incredibly rare gift. The ability could be replicated, of course, in the form of tracing magical signatures, but it was almost unheard of to see it with the naked eye. Then again, given the nature of Luna’s Seer abilities, it made sense that she of all people would possess such a gift.

_Magical signatures_. The phrase rolled around in Hermione’s head far more prominently than her initial fascination with Luna being able to see magic. Every person with magic had their own distinct core that left behind a residual identifier whenever they cast powerful magic. Aurors used it all the time in tracing criminals. What if a certain group of mischief-makers had taken the same theory and applied it to avoiding their professors?

“Fred, George,” Hermione said, an undercurrent of urgency in her voice.

“Yes?” they asked in unison.

“I think Luna just told us how the Marauders’ Map works.”

*****

Remus Lupin suppressed a chuckle. This was hardly the first time a group of Ravenclaws stormed his office in search of information, but, given who had just entered, he had a feeling it would have nothing to do with school work. Hermione never needed help with her homework, Luna Lovegood knew things far beyond her years, and the Weasley twins’ genius was better suited for interests outside of academics. None of them would ever ask for help with anything school related on their own, and he was even less inclined to believe they’d come together for such a thing. Whatever they were about to approach him with was sure to be entertaining.

After the dementors’ effect on Sirius, Remus needed a distraction. It had pained him to see his husband and mate in such a horrible state, especially knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease his suffering. No amount of chocolate or emotional support could pull him out of his mind before he was ready. He had to be willing to help himself before anyone else could help him.

Sirius would recover from this setback, though it wouldn’t be easy. Even with all the progress he’d made in the nearly two years since he’d been freed from Azkaban, he still had a lot of healing to go through before he resembled the carefree, wannabe rebel he’d been prior to his incarceration—if he ever recovered to that point at all. Remus had faith in his husband, of course, but not everything could be healed after a decade of such raw, repetitive trauma. He would likely carry it with him for the rest of his life.

And so, this band of roguish troublemakers—plus Luna Lovegood—was a welcome sight that just might pull Remus out of his own pit of helpless despair. It was a tall order for the young students, but if anyone could do it, it would be this new generation of Marauders and their Seer friend.

“Esteemed Marauder!” George Weasley greeted him with far too much enthusiasm.

His twin Fred bowed low. “Please allow us to grace you with our humble presence!”

“We require your—”

“Unique expertise—”

“On all things—”

“Map related,” they finished together.

Remus arched a curious eyebrow. “Map related, you say? This wouldn’t have anything to do with a particular map of the school, would it?”

Fred and George wore matching sheepish grins. “Perhaps,” Fred hedged.

“Theoretically, anyway,” George clarified, a slight wariness in his eyes.

Remus could understand their trepidation. Even with his status as a Marauder, he was still a professor and required to do something when he caught students breaking the rules. Possessing the map was a bit of a gray area since the map itself wasn’t contraband but tended to be used for troublemaking nonetheless. He would have been just as hesitant to come forward with questions if their situations were reversed.

Hermione, however, had no such reservations. “Oh, honestly,” she said with an eye roll. “We wanted to know more about the magical properties that define the Marauders' Map so that we can work around its strengths and limitations. Fred and George brought up some really good points about how the map might be useful in tracking Pettigrew’s whereabouts if and when he comes back, as well as how his having been involved in the map’s making gives him a unique advantage in attempts to trick it.”

Fred and George looked utterly betrayed by Hermione’s forthright admission, but Remus was thankful for it. His niece was right. The Weasley twins had indeed posited some truly insightful questions. If they could all work together to suss out any possible pitfalls in the map’s creation, it could become an important tool in protecting Hogwarts from the likes of Wormtail.

“Now,” Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “we’ve already worked out that the map identifies individuals by their magical signature, and—”

“How on earth did you figure that out?” Remus found himself asking.

He, Sirius, and James had spent ages working out the best way to identify everyone in the school before they’d had the epiphany of tying it to one’s magical signature. They’d thought it an ingenious plan. How had four young students come to the same conclusion in such a short period of time?

George was the one to answer first. “Luna pointed it out that everyone’s magical signature is different—even twins.”

“And the map wasn’t fooled by Hermione transfiguring herself into a replica of George,” Fred added.

Remus was beyond impressed with his students’ deductive reasoning. He would have never thought of testing the map’s accuracy against human transfiguration at their age.

“Anyway,” George said, “we know now that the map can’t be tricked by disguises—”

“But there’s still the issue of missing rooms,” Fred finished.

“And not being able to highlight who you’re looking for—”

“Which makes things a right mess—”

“When they run into a crowded room or hall.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “For instance, there was no Divination classroom when you were a student here, so the rooms in that tower aren’t properly mapped.”

“The dungeons are a bit incomplete as well,” pointed out Luna. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Salazar’s hidden places, though. Even a rat couldn’t sneak into his domain.”

By the end of the afternoon, the five of them were able to identify a total of eight rooms, two secret passageways, and three corridors that weren’t on the map. Fred and George had also been able to say which of the known secret passageways had since saved in or become otherwise unusable. They all made their markings on a copy of the map that, until it was complete, would lack the spells needed to make the moving names appear. It was far easier to draw in more details without clusters of dots wandering around the castle.

Remus was blown away by how meticulous the students were in their work. He’d graded enough of the Weasley twins’ assignments to know they didn’t put half as much effort into their homework as they were displaying right now. It was as if an entirely new side of them had been unlocked now that they had a real challenge in front of them.

Hermione was an all-around intelligent young girl with a ruthlessly analytical mind like both of her fathers, and Luna could make connections no one else could have dreamed of. Fred and George Weasley, though, were not particularly interested in their studies. Remus was just as guilty as most of the other professors in writing the twins off as lazy geniuses who’d rather play pranks than write essays, but now he knew the truth. They weren’t slackers, not by a longshot. They put so little effort into school because they were _bored_. It wasn’t nearly advanced enough to provide them with the mental stimulation they needed.

Remus watched in awe as they bounced ideas off one another, sometimes barely getting the words out before discerning their next move. He almost felt as though he shouldn’t be a part of this. No amount of insight he had as one of the original mapmakers could compete with the theoretical tangents the twins were plunging into with reckless abandon.

“I doubt we’ll be able to properly pin down the Room of Requirement,” Fred said dejectedly, quill in his mouth and a copy of the map in his hands. “I mean, we could mark down an approximate location for it, but…”

“Yeah, I know,” George replied. “The wards.”

“What’s the Room of Requirement?” Hermione asked, voicing the question that was on everyone’s mind but the twins.

“A room on the seventh floor that you have to pass by three times with a specific need in mind before it manifests,” Fred explained. “I’ve also heard it called the Come and Go Room.”

“It’s always unplottable,” George expanded, “but you can make the door disappear behind you or request specific protection wards so that it’s virtually invisible as well. I have a feeling a person’s presence would fall off the map if they were to enter the Room of Requirement.”

Fred frowned. “That better be the only room capable of flouting the rules of time, wizard space, and wish magic,” he muttered, “or else we might have to scrap this idea altogether.”

Considering Remus had never so much as heard of this particular room existing until this very moment, he doubted there were any others like it that had yet to be found. And even if there were other rooms that only existed under specific circumstances, Pettigrew would hardly be the one to find them when others hadn’t. He was neither intelligent nor lucky enough to pull off such a feat.

Slashing a big X halfway down the seventh floor corridor, Fred let out a disgruntled noise. “Well, I guess that’s good enough for now. Same time tomorrow, everyone?”

As the students filed out of his office, chattering about their plans for the next map update session, Remus couldn’t help but smile. Not only were these some of the brightest students he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting; they’d also given him a much needed reprieve from all the dementor-induced anxieties that had been plaguing him before their arrival.


	11. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few winter break scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. sorry for the long-ass delay. covid is really making my job a nightmare rn.  
> 2\. fuck jk rowling just in general

The rest of the fall term passed without any other perilous incidents, much to both the shock and relief of Hydrus. Given the hectic nature of his first and second years at Hogwarts, he half expected something disastrous to happen on the train ride home for winter break. It wouldn’t do to fall behind schedule with his life-altering events.

Much to his surprise, nothing out of the ordinary happened on the Hogwarts Express. There were no dementors, no animagus stowaways, and absolutely no Albus Dumbledore. The Aurors and professors made their usual rounds to ensure that everyone was safe, but other than that, it passed for a perfectly ordinary journey home.

None of Hydrus’ friends were staying at Hogwarts for winter break this year, and neither were any of Dade’s friends either. They had plans to spend time with all of them—even their muggle-born friends who were typically more difficult to contact over break than the wizard-born children. Colin Creevey’s family had moved to the mixed wizarding and muggle village Godric’s Hollow after it became clear that both of their sons were wizards. As far as most of their wizard neighbors were concerned, the Creevey family had seamlessly integrated into the magical world and the parents were often viewed as honorary squibs. The Finch-Fletchley family, while still mostly separate from the magical world, were regarded among the wealthy as perfectly suitable business partners and had been convinced to get floo service for the sake of convenient communication.

Both the Creevey and Finch-Fletchley families were so wholly accepted by the magical world that they had even been invited to the Malfoys’ annual Yule Gala. They were the first muggle families to be invited in over since the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy some three hundred years ago. It was hard to tell which family was the most excited about this historic event, but, if Hydrus had to guess, he’d say it was the Malfoys.

But the gala invites extended to these two muggle families were overshadowed by an even more high-profile invitation: the Weasley family. One would never guess it based on the youngest generation’s friendships, but the Weasley and Malfoy families had a centuries-long blood feud that had begun almost immediately upon the Malfoys’ arrival in Britain from their native France. No one could quite remember how it started anymore, though, and both Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy had decided it was in their best interest to put the feud behind them. After all, their children were on friendly terms. It wouldn’t do well for them to continue hating each other for no good reason.

“I thought Dad was joking about the invitation at first,” Ron had ruefully admitted halfway through their journey back to King’s Cross Station. “Mum apparently fainted. She hasn’t been to any galas she was a schoolgirl. I imagine she was overwhelmed thinking about all the social niceties she’d have to cram into our heads so we don’t embarrass ourselves out of future invites.”

“She might be better off casting Silencing Charms on the lot of you,” Draco replied with an undignified snort.

Ron chuckled. “I reckon you’re right. Still, even that might not be enough to reign in Fred and George.”

“At least your mum won’t have to worry about Percy’s behavior,” Hydrus teased. The ambitious Head Boy had impeccable manners and a genuine interest in the inane inner workings of polite society—even if he did go about it in the most boring ways possible.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Thank Merlin we can distance ourselves from that boring prat by reminding everyone he’s technically a Prewett now.”

Everyone in their compartment burst into laughter at that. Poor Percy…

The rest of the train ride was quiet, or at least, Hydrus assumed it was because he’d fallen asleep not long after Ron’s comment about Percy. He didn’t wake up again until Hermione was shook him and let him know they were nearly at the station. According to her, the only thing he’d missed while napping was Ron and Draco in fierce yet oddly silent game of wizard’s chess that led to quite a lot of glaring and muttered curses.

Mum and Dad picked Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade up at the station and took them to their new, permanent place of residence: Slytherin Castle. All three of the young teens had been there numerous times over the past couple of years, but Father hadn’t thought it fair to keep them there full time when the Blacks were so much more family-oriented. Now, though, with Mum and Dad being well enough to live on their own, all three parents decided they’d live together at the castle until the kids finished school. It was much easier to keep the family together that way.

Hydrus thought the whole arrangement was brilliant. He’d known a few kids in muggle primary school who had divorced parents, and the idea of being shuffled back and forth between houses while parents argued over who got which holidays sounded messy. His parents weren’t divorced, but Mum and Dad weren’t married to Father or even in a relationship. He’d never admit it, but he’d been worrying about what the custody situation might be once everyone was healthy and had a home that was no longer derelict from a decade’s neglect. The last thing he’d wanted was for visiting rights to be a point of contention in his happy, brand-new family.

Mum and Dad were even more thrilled about the arrangement than Hydrus. The initial plan way back during the twins’ conception was for everyone to live together so that the kids would always have their loving parents nearby. It was more than a decade overdue, but they finally had the chance to see those plans through. 

“Just try not to break anything or engage in blood sacrifice!” Mum called after them as she let them loose in the castle. “I’d rather not have to explain any of that to your father.”

Hydrus couldn’t think of a single reason why their mum would need to warn them away from blood sacrifices, especially on the first day of winter break, but he went along with it anyway. She had all sorts of strange beliefs about what young people got up to in their free time as a result of her own upbringing, after all, and her more specific warnings tended to come from personal experience.

Hermione, however, looked thoroughly chastised. “You charge _one_ runic array with human blood in this house, and suddenly everyone’s worried about what other blood magic you’re doing in your spare time,” she muttered to herself.

Hydrus wasn’t sure he wanted an explanation.

*****

Father arrived home a few hours after everyone else, but, much to the disappointment of his children, wouldn’t be staying home for the duration of the break. There were still children at Hogwarts who needed supervision. While Headmistress McGonagall didn’t force the entire staff to stay for the whole break like Dumbledore used to, she _had_ enforced a rotation so that there were always professors available for the students who remained at the castle.

“At least we’ll have Yule together,” Father had with a slight smile as the family had dinner together in the minor dining hall. “I’d hate to be the poor professor stuck with the students for the holiday itself.”

Hydrus was in agreement with his father’s sentiment. His leaving the day after Yule wouldn’t be the end of the world. He’d be home for the most important part of break, and, unlike Mum and Dad, they could visit him at any time during school if they missed him.

Mum, however, was devastated. “I had so hoped you’d be able to stay through the twenty-fifth,” she’d told Father. “Sirius and Remus plan to host a muggle-style Christmas party that’s sure to be an utter mess. It’s such a shame that you’ll be missing all the fun.”

“Bella, I grew up during the muggle Great Slump and Second World War. I cannot possibly think of a more disastrous Christmas party than any of those I attended in my childhood,” came Father’s dry reply.

“Were any of them bombed by the Germans?” Dade asked without any tact whatsoever.

Father, however, only chuckled at the forthright question. “Not directly, no.”

“Then there’s still room for Sirius’ party to still be more of a trainwreck.”

“Yeah,” Hydrus agreed, trying not to laugh. “He could invite Marge by mistake.”

Dade nodded solemnly despite the grin on his face. “And she could bring Ripper along with her.”

“The two of them could drink all the brandy.”

“And Marge could start going on about everyone’s breeding.”

“Or start accusing everyone of being just as nasty as she is.”

“And then Ripper might attack someone.”

“Maybe even Aunt Marge.”

Hydrus snorted. “If only we could be so lucky.”

Mum, Dad, Father, and Hermione weren’t nearly as amused as Hydrus and Dade. If anything, they looked angry. Very, very angry. “And just who is this Marge person?” Mum asked, seething with barely controlled disgust and rage.

“I’d like to know as well,” Dad added darkly.

Hermione pursed her lips. “And who—or what—is Ripper?”

“Aunt Marge is my dad’s sister,” Dade explained, either not noticing or not caring about the murderous look in their family’s eyes. “She breeds dogs for a living. Ripper’s her favorite because he’s the most vicious and will attack on command. She also drowns the runt of each litter. She claims it’s to improve the breeding stock, but I think she just likes doing it.”

Mum gasped, while Hermione went a bit green. They might not be the most empathetic when it came to people, but they both cared deeply about animal welfare.

“Would it bother you if we killed her?” Father asked.

Hydrus simply shrugged. He didn’t have strong feelings one way or the other about Marge’s fate. She was awful, but not nearly as awful as Vernon and Petunia had been.

Given the determined look on Dade’s face, he had a much stronger preference. “I think you should do it,” he said easily. “She’s already set Ripper after Hydrus a couple of times. Who’s to say she won’t train more dogs to hurt children?”

Father grimaced in disgust. “Consider it done.”

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant after that. If someone had told ten year old “Harry Potter” that kidnapping, torture, and murder could be fun topics for a family dinner, he’d have been quite concerned. Such talk wasn’t appropriate for the boring, normal suburb of Little Whinging. They were topics on par with magic in terms of how scandalous, how taboo, they’d be to mention out loud.

But the Gaunt-Lestrange family didn’t care at all about what was or wasn’t normal to talk about. They simply said what was on their minds—no matter how gruesome or disgusting or fantastical it might be. There was no need to worry about how anyone might react, not when everyone else was just as willing to share the worst of their own thoughts. The openness was freeing.

*****

Much of winter break passed in the same manner as the first day. Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade could be found in any number of rooms around Slytherin Castle, reading and researching and playing to their hearts’ content. Hermione and Dad spent most of their days in the main library reading beside one another in silence. Dade got additional dueling lessons from Mum—or, as he called her, Aunt Bella—as he found duels to be a far more enjoyable form of exercise to the muggle boxing his dad had pushed him into. Hydrus and Father, however, spent most of their time in Father’s study.

Hydrus wasn’t yet eligible to take the new Alchemy elective at Hogwarts, but he was determined to be as ready for it as possible when the time came. What better way to prepare than to work closely with the professor? Father knew all sorts of things about alchemy that would have flummoxed even the allegedly brilliant Albus Dumbledore and his half plagiarized Twelve Uses of Dragon’s Blood essay. With a bit of luck and plenty of guidance from his Father, Hydrus would someday know more than his corrupt former headmaster as well.

“And that’s why the placement of the symbols in the transmutation circle is so crucial to the end result,” Father finished explaining as the glass of water in the center of the circle turned to spoiled milk instead of wine. 

Hydrus stared at the glass, amazed. Only two of the symbols had been swapped, and yet the final result was so drastically different from its intended outcome. “No wonder an E.E. in Ancient Runes is a required prerequisite for Alchemy,” he mused.

“Indeed,” his father solemnly agreed. “Even the slightest misunderstanding of how the symbols interact can be… alarming.”

Hydrus was suddenly reminded of his first year at Hogwarts and how his father came to having a physical form once more. The restoration potion that came from the philosopher’s stone had to be brewed inside of an intricate transmutation circle before the ritual aspect of regaining a body could be completed. There were so many steps along the way that could have maimed or killed his father—or worse, left him looking like some kind of old-timey film depiction of Frankenstein’s monster. He shuddered at the very thought.

“I’m glad you didn’t explode or anything when you were working on getting your body back,” he said, immediately cringing at his tactlessness. There were so many ways in which he could have phrased that better.

His father arched an eyebrow. “Am I to thank you for such an uninspired attempt at expressing your appreciation for my existence?”

“You could just tell me I sound like an idiot, you know. That’s what a normal person would do.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Hydrus snorted. “I didn’t realize you critiqued the caliber of your son’s comments for the fun it, Father.”

“And you dare to claim _I_ don’t speak like a normal person?” his father asked incredulously.

“I had to get it from somewhere,” Hydrus argued.

“Yes,” Father agreed, ruffling his son’s hair. “I suppose you do.”

*****

The day before Yule, Mum decided she wanted to try her hand at baking again. Sirius had read that some muggles do Christmas cookie exchanges where they make a bunch of different types and then trade them with one another. After learning from Hermione which types of cookies were most popular for these types of exchanges, Mum decided she would bring gingerbread men.

Unfortunately, Mum’s baking skills hadn’t improved at all since her and Sirius’ disastrous attempts over the summer. After burning through a third metal tray and creating cinders out of gingerbread dough, she was chased out of the kitchen by the house elves just like she had been at Grimmauld Place. The elves, however, did grant her one concession: she could return to assist in decorating the gingerbread men.

Several hours later, Mum dragged everyone into the kitchen to help her decorate. Even Father had been forced out of his study to help—though he and Mum were both quite tight-lipped about how she’d managed to coerce him into joining. Father was terribly averse to messes, after all, and there were few places messier than a kitchen full of teenagers.

“There’s no need for your dramatics, Marvolo,” Mum had chastised him when he’d refused to touch the icing. “You know plenty of cleaning charms to keep your hands from getting too dirty.”

Father grimaced despite Mum making a good point. “But there will still be a period of time where that disgusting substance could get on my hands in the first place.”

“It’s a bit odd that you can kill people, but you can’t ice cookies,” Hermione pointed out, wrinkling her nose.

“The Killing Curse is far cleaner than this… sugary monstrosity.”

Hermione’s expression turned triumphant. “Then why were you covered in all sorts of nastiness when you killed that dementor?” she asked.

Just as father tried to explain that what happened with the dementor was different because he’d been in an irrational fit of rage, Hydrus cut him off by reminding him—

“You also brew potions. Potions that have rather nasty ingredients, no less.”

“I wear protective gloves for that, as anyone handling such ingredients ought to,” Father retorted.

Hydrus cocked his head to the side. “Then why not wear gloves now?”

Father, for once in his life, couldn’t come up with an answer.

In the end, Mum transfigured some thin nitrile gloves for Father to wear since he was, in her words: “being such a little priss about everything.” Father hadn’t taken kindly to the insult, but he’d grabbed the gloves and reluctantly began icing the cookies all the same. There were even moments where it looked like he was having fun, though he would soundly deny any such claims. After all the fuss he’d made earlier, his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be.

“There’s no need to be such a Scrinch about it,” Dad had teased him while painting a Ravenclaw blue robe onto his gingerbread man.

Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade all exchanged amused glances before breaking out into giggles. They had an idea of what Dad had meant, but decided it was much funnier not to correct him.

Father arched an incredulous eyebrow. “What in Merlin’s name is a Scrinch, Rodolphus?”

“It’s an angry little green creature that hates Christmas and steals presents,” Dad said triumphantly. “Rab was telling me all about them.”

The three teens laughed even harder than before. Dade had to catch himself on the table so he didn’t fall over, and Hermione’s cheeks had gone a winded shade of red. 

“I’m certain that’s not a real creature,” Father replied, pursing his lips.

“I believe Dad’s referring to the Grinch,” Hermione explained between fits of giggles. “He’s a character in a muggle children’s book who tries to ruin Christmas by stealing all the presents and decorations from the town of Whoville.”

Dade nodded in agreement. “There’s a cartoon about it and everything.”

“The book was written by Dr. Seuss,” Hydrus chimed in.

“Did you know his real name was Ted Geisel?” Hermione asked her brother.

Hydrus shook his head. He hadn’t known that at all. It made sense, though, that he’d write under a different name. Trying to sell books under a name like Ted couldn’t have been nearly as easy as with his whimsical nom de plume.

“As in the American political cartoonist?” Father replied, scandalized. “The one who drew pro-war propaganda cartoons throughout the 1940’s?”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed with fascination. “Did he really? I never knew about that. I only know of him as a children’s author.”

“How does a political cartoonist even get into writing children’s books?” Father muttered to himself, shaking his head. “That can’t possibly be right.”

“How does a Dark Lord become a school teacher?” Hermione countered.

“Don’t antagonize your father,” Mum gently scolded her. “He’s had enough losses today without you adding this one to the mix.”

Hydrus snickered. Not even his father’s sharp glare could temper his amusement.

When the Gaunt-Lestrange family finally finished icing their gingerbread men, Mum decided to give the cookies a little something extra. Using a modified spell meant for charming paintings, she animated their clothing designs and facial features. Some smiled, some scowled, and some had iced embroidery that danced around. Hydrus had never seen anything like it before, and he couldn’t wait for everyone else in the family to see them come Christmas Day.

“That’s an ingenious bit of spellwork there,” Father idly complimented as he watched a gingerbread Hermione change her hair and eye color at will.

Mum smiled smugly. “Is that your way of finally admitting that this was fun?”

“Absolutely not,” Father denied far too quickly. “I’m simply impressed by the magic you’ve imbued in the icing.”

Not a single soul believed him.

“You can bring some of them back to Hogwarts with you to share with your colleagues if you’d like,” Mum suggested.

Father pretended to consider her offer as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. “Perhaps I will.”

But Hydrus knew there was no “perhaps” about it. He may not have been dragged into it willingly, but his father was just as proud of their confectionary creations as everyone else in the family. And, possibly for the first time in his life, Father was going to have a Merry Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that fun fact about dr. seuss


	12. A Very Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> christmas shit, babey!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i own nothing  
> 2\. fuck jk rowling anyway

The Malfoy Yule Gala arrived with far less excitement than the previous year—at least for the kids. While they may have had some vague understanding of the political importance of two muggle families and the Weasleys being invited, they were all far too preoccupied by their friends being there to care. And, with no secret meetings between the DMLE and concerned citizens to be accidentally overheard, the biggest concern of anyone under the age of seventeen was whether the Marauders or the Weasley twins would win the brewing prank war that Aunt Narcissa was pretending not to find funny.

The gala was also the first time Hydrus was properly introduced to Ron’s parents. He’d said a brief hello to them once or twice at King’s Cross Station, but he’d never actually had the time to get to know them. It turned out that they were just as embarrassing and overbearing and _wonderful_ as Ron had always claimed.

Mrs. Weasley—who declined to be called by her proper title of Lord Prewett—was an affectionate mother hen who couldn’t stop gushing about how adorable and polite all the children and teens were. She’d been particularly charmed by the girls, praising their beautiful dresses and not so subtly suggesting that they take her Ginny under their wing so that she’d act a bit more ladylike.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being a bit of a tomboy, dear,” Mrs. Weasley had assured Ginny when her face had gone as red as her hair from embarrassment. “But I’m sure you’d love having more a of a feminine influence in your life, especially after all those years of being stuck at home with the boys.”

In the end, Ginny begrudgingly agreed to let Pansy and Daphne teach her about the latest fashion trends for girls their age. Luna tagged along as well, allowing the other girls to adorn her loose, blonde braid with brightly colored origami flowers that went surprisingly well with her gauzy yellow dress. It was a long time before any of the girls were seen again.

Unlike his wife, Mr. Weasley was a quiet, unassuming type who seemed perfectly content to go with the flow. He allowed himself to be carried into all manner of conversations, occasionally speaking when he had something relevant to say. For the most part, though, he stuck to silently nodding along and holding his glass of mulled wine so that he’d have something to occupy his hands.

It wasn’t until he was introduced to Mr. Michael Finch-Fletchley—Justin Finch-Fletchley’s father and owner of Fletchley Tech—that Mr. Weasley came out of his shell. What Mr. Weasley lacked in knowledge about muggle technology, he made up for in his enthusiastic desire to learn. He had all sorts of questions about electricity and televisions and computers that Mr. Finch-Fletchley was all to happy to answer. They ended up disappearing with Uncle Lucius at one point, and when they came back, all three men looked terribly pleased.

“They’ve arranged some sort of business agreement!” Ron excitedly exclaimed not long after that. “My dad’s going to work for Fletchley Tech making muggle devices that can work properly in the magical world!”

Hydrus’ mouth fell open. That was brilliant! As much as he loved the magical world, there were certain technologies that he sorely missed and others that he’d never had the opportunity to use. The idea of a magically compatible walkman or home computer thrilled him to no end. Plus it would make it so much easier for Dade to show movies to his friends if they had their own television rather than venturing out into the muggle world to watch them.

“That’s incredible, Ron!” he told his friend, meaning every word.

Hermione had a look on her face like she was about to ask a million questions. “Do you think they’d let me learn a bit about how they end up getting the devices to work? It has the potential to be a fascinating new branch of magic, and I’d love to see the methods they’ll use to pull it off.”

Ron shrugged. “I have no idea, but I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

That seemed to satisfy Hermione, at least for the time being.

“With any luck, they’ll be able to videotape quidditch matches for everyone to watch at home,” Dade said, a wistful expression on his face. While he didn’t have any interest in playing a sport that didn’t have his feet firmly on the ground, Dade had become just as obsessed with quidditch as every other wizard his age. He’d never once missed a school match.

“Videotape?” Ron repeated curiously.

“It’s a method of recording something on film so that you can watch it on a screen later,” Hermione explained. “It can also be done live, which is what muggles do for sports games. That way, people who couldn’t get tickets have the opportunity to watch the game from home at the exact same time that it’s being played. Sometimes restaurants will even have televisions where you can watch sports games as well.”

Ron’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “I’d be able to watch every single Chudley Cannons game! I’ve always wanted to see them play instead of just listening over the wireless.”

“You should definitely tell your dad to focus on televisions first then,” Hydrus suggested. “I bet a lot of people would pay good money to have a television in their home, even if the only channel is quidditch.”

“We can finally bring the concept of a World Cup party to the wizarding world,” Dade agreed with a grin. Sensing Ron’s confusion, he clarified: “It’s when you have a bunch of people over to watch the most important game and eat a bunch of snacks. I think adults drink a lot of alcohol during it as well.”

“Food and quidditch,” Ron said dreamily. “What more could you possibly need for a perfect party?”

But business deals and the allure of televisions weren’t the only major topics of the night. There was still the matter of the prank war, which had started the moment the Weasley twins had arrived. Along with their hellos, they’d offered candies to Sirius and Remus that turned their hair an even brighter shade of pink than Tonks liked to wear. That one small action set off a chain of events that was impossible for even the most boring stuffed shirts in attendance to ignore.

The pink hair had been a bold start, but the Marauders parried it nicely by transfiguring Fred and George’s dress robes into the most aggressively red and gold Gryffindor themed robes anyone had ever seen. Brightly colored and sparkling like mad, the young Ravenclaws had laughed like mad at being robed in the colors of the “enemy”. 

Perhaps the most entertaining part of all, however, was when each side of the prank war managed to recruit metamorphmagi. Sirius and Remus teamed up with Uncle Reggie, while the Weasley twins brought Hermione and Tonks into the fold. The metamorphmagi took delight in engaging in all sorts of embarrassing behavior while wearing the faces of the opposition. Tonks in particular had done an incredible job of pretending to be a very drunk Sirius, leaning on everyone’s shoulders and loudly proclaiming all sorts of slurred nonsense before the real Sirius caught up with her and chased her away.

“You should’ve seen his face when he saw the spitting image of himself drunkenly declaring his love for the Chudley Cannons!” Tonks had cackled afterwards. “He looked so torn between being impressed with the prank and being scandalized that anyone would claim to support the Cannons.”

Ron’s indignant shout of his own love for the Cannons was ignored as the rest of the teens laughed along with the rest of the silly things Tonks had told other people while wearing Sirius’ face.

The most surprising part of the prank war, though, was a joke confession turned true. Uncle Reggie had taken on Tonks’ appearance to shamelessly flirt with Barty, fully expecting it to embarrass her when the awkward older man turned her down in front of half the gala. His plan backfired spectacularly when Barty—face flushed red and nervously licking his lips—asked Reggie-as-Tonks out on a date. It was at that exact moment when the real Tonks showed up and half shrieked “Really?” like an over-excited child on Christmas morning.

It turned out that Tonks had fancied Barty for months but had been unsure of how to pursue him. The new couple spent the rest of the evening awkwardly attempting to dance and get to know one another, much to the surprise of everyone except Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted—who both had been suffering their daughter’s wistful hopes for romance since the end of the summer.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Fred?” George said as he pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.

“It sure is, George,” Fred agreed. “Who’d have thought a prank war could bring young love together like that?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “The two of you are utterly ridiculous,” she told them. 

“They wouldn’t be them if they weren’t ridiculous,” Hydrus said with a shrug. He couldn’t imagine the Weasley twins being anything else.

“Not as ridiculous as Tonks trying to dance, though,” George countered with a laugh.

Fred nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it doesn’t get much sillier than that.”

A glance towards the dance floor proved the twins correct. Tonks was struggling to keep her footing for even the most basic of steps, tripping on air and stepping on Barty’s feet more often than getting it right. And yet, despite her terrible coordination and the sore feet Barty was surely sporting by now, the two couldn’t have looked any happier.

“How in the world she passed her Auror exams with balance like that is beyond me,” Hermione said, watching the couple dance with the same fascination that one might have when staring at a car wreck.

“Maybe she’s more coordinated in an emergency setting?” Fred suggested.

Hydrus shook his head. “No, not really. The DMLE moved her from patrol to magical forensics back in October because she’s an incredible investigator and really detail-oriented, but so very accident-prone.”

“It’s just safer for everyone that way,” Hermione added.

“Plus she seems to like it a lot.”

And she did indeed like her new job. She’d gone on a Hermione-worthy explanation of how to analyze something called Stone Memories, or the history of magical signatures and residues that can build up on the walls of enclosed crime scenes. It had been fascinating to listen to, even if Hydrus didn’t understand half of it.

Eventually, Hydrus was dragged onto the dance floor as well—much to his chagrin. He may have learned the steps for most forms of ballroom dancing, but when it came to actually putting them together to the tune of a song, he was nearly as clumsy as Tonks.

“It’s because you’re too self-conscious,” Hermione explained, frowning when her brother once again looked down at his feet. “If you were more confident, this would go a lot more smoothly.”

“Because it’s so easy to just become confident all of a sudden,” Hydrus grumbled.

“Well, no, but maybe if you’d dance more than once a year…”

Hydrus didn’t have the chance to hear the rest of his sister’s diatribe when his mother cut in for the next song. Mum had an excess of confidence, and, even though she wasn’t much better at ballroom dancing than her son, was able to lead them with considerable success. Her movements were a bit too bold and too quick for Hydrus to keep up with, but it was far more fun than the purely technical dance he’d shared with his sister.

“You’re terrible at this,” Draco said with a laugh just a few songs later. He was standing by the edge of the dance floor with Ron and Pansy, looking like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to join the dancing or continue watching from the sidelines. “I’ve seen toddlers do a better job at dancing.”

Hydrus pursed his lips. “I’d like to see _you_ do a better job.”

“Oh, believe me. I will.”

Draco took an unsuspecting Ron by the hand and led him onto the dance floor. This proved to be a terrible mistake. For as lithe and graceful as Draco was, Ron absolutely wasn’t. He turned out to be an even worse dancer than both Hydrus and Tonks. The two boys could hardly go a few seconds without Ron either tripping or stepping on Draco’s toes. They didn’t even last an entire song before Draco deposited Ron back on the outskirts of the dance floor.

“Well, that was a nightmare,” Draco grumbled. “Pansy, you know how to dance, right?”

“Of course,” Pansy easily agreed.

Draco grinned. “Then let’s show these idiots how it’s done.”

The two made their way across the dance floor with all the grace and precision Ron and Hydrus could never manage. It was beautiful and effortless, yet entirely uninspired. They were simply going through the motions of formal pageantry as any young pureblood ought to.

“They could at least _try_ to look like they’re having fun,” Ron said as he watched on, “rather than going about it with all the passion of someone doing chores.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but agree. Very few of those on the dance floor looked like they were genuinely having fun, but Draco and Pansy appeared particularly bored compared to the others. They could have at least tried smiling at one another.

“You know,” drawled Hydrus, remembering some of the muggle rock music from Sirius and Remus’ wedding, “there are muggle dance styles that are way more fun and don’t even require any of these formal steps.”

“Really?” Ron asked doubtfully.

Hydrus hummed in affirmation. “Yeah, but the music you need for it is really loud and energetic. It won’t work for all these classical numbers.”

Ron gave Hydrus an appraising look, his eyebrow arching in an almost Professor Prince-like manner. “Do you think we could get Fred and George to help us get that kind of music to play now? Or do we need some sort of muggle device to make it happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Hydrus admitted, “but Sirius would know.”

The joint desire for wild muggle rock music forged a truce between the Marauders and the Weasley twins. All four of them, along with Ron and Hydrus, worked together to covertly retrieve Sirius’ vinyl records, which were close enough to compatible with magical gramophones that they could be played without issue. Best of all, they managed to get everything set up and ready to go without any of the Malfoys noticing.

“This is going to be the best prank of all!” George declared, triumphant.

Fred gave a gleeful grin. “I couldn’t agree more, my dear brother.”

As soon as the most recent classical song faded into silence, Sirius hijacked the sound system. “Good evening, everyone, and sorry for the interruption,” he announced over the crowd’s confused murmurs. “It’s come to my attention that some of our younger attendees tonight would like to hear some music with a bit more energy to it. So, without further ado, let me introduce you all to the wonder that is rock-n-roll!”

The partygoers looked more confused than ever, and Aunt Narcissa looked downright murderous, but anything negative they had to say on the subject was quickly drowned out by the Guns N’ Roses song “Welcome to the Jungle”.

“This is wicked!” Ron shouted excitedly, jumping up and down to the beat. “I get what you mean about this being more fun to dance to!”

Fred pointed to the center of the dance floor. “Look at Tonks and Barty!”

Tonks had grown her bubblegum pink hair long and wild so she could headbang with a more dramatic effect while playing air guitar. She must have taught Barty how to air guitar as well because he was doing the exact same thing, though with considerably less confidence. Still, there was no denying that they were having the time of their lives.

“What is it they’re doing?” George asked, turning to Hydrus.

“Oh, it’s called air guitar,” Hydrus explained. “You pretend like you’re playing the guitar for the song. Most people like to get really dramatic about it.”

Fred and George turned to each other, wearing matching manic smiles, before joining the fray to air guitar right along with Tonks and Barty. None of them were quite as carefree about it as Tonks, but they managed to fit right in nonetheless.

Luna and Ginny were the next to join the fun. Hydrus had no idea what sort of dancing Luna was trying to do, and it was clear that Ginny didn’t either. She watched her friend, face flushed and laughing as she tried to keep up with the strange movements.

“Jailhouse Rock” came on next. To everyone’s surprise, Mum and Father took the dance floor by storm—doing the jive of all things. Hydrus was amazed by how seamlessly they adapted such old-fashioned moves to a far more modern song. It looked perfectly natural, like it was the only style of dance that could ever fit the song.

Others watched on with rapt fascination, some even gasping when they did a drop that had Mum lying on the floor, only to be propelled into the air and onto Father’s hip. Even Aunt Narcissa had dropped her pureblood mask to gape at her older sister’s increasingly advanced dance routine. It looked as though she’d never seen anyone jive before, something Hydrus was beginning to realize was quite likely given the traditional ballroom steps that had taken up most of the night.

“I want to learn how to do that.”

Hydrus found himself nodding in agreement with Pansy’s wistful declaration, not even bothering to wonder when she’d ditched Draco to watch the dancers with him.

“Do you think your parents would teach us?” she continued hopefully, her hooded black eyes pleading.

“Definitely,” Hydrus assured her.

Pansy broke out into a big grin and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go now then! The song’s ending.”

For the rest of the night, Hydrus alternated between clumsy attempts at learning all the dances that were popular when his father was growing up and joining his friends on the dance floor for the particularly rowdy songs. He stepped on just about every one of his dance partners’ feet, fell on his butt nearly every time his father showed him a new set of steps, and crashed onto the floor with both Weasley twins in a botched attempt at doing a lift. Never before in his life had he ever had so much fun.

“Growing up with the Grangers, I never thought I’d get to be this happy,” Hermione admitted quietly between songs. She’d worn herself out learning the jitterbug, her face flushed and a small smile gracing her lips despite the obvious fatigue in her eyes. “Did you?”

Hydrus shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I’m glad we have the chance now.”

“Yeah,” Hydrus agreed, his heart swelling with some strong emotion that made him want to laugh and smile and cry all at the same time. “Me, too.”

*****

Christmas morning arrived with all the bells and whistles of a family-friendly muggle movie. Hydrus could hardly believe his eyes. At some point in the night, Mum, Dad, and the elves had decorated the most used rooms of Slytherin Castle. All the teens’ bedrooms, the main hall, the minor dining room, and the main sitting room had all been transformed into a red and green and snow-covered winter wonderland.

“It’s even prettier than the Hogwarts decorations!” Hermione had gushed mere moments after barging into Hydrus’ room to wish him a Merry Christmas.

Uncle Rabastan didn’t quite agree with Hermione’s declaration. The first thing he’d said when he’d stepped through the floo that morning was: “Why does it look like the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms vomited all over your home?” Dad gave him a light smack on the arm for that and told him to let the kids enjoy things.

It wasn’t long after Uncle Rabastan arrived that they all got ready to leave for Grimmauld Place. Dad ensured everyone have some fruit and eggs and toast for breakfast (he was worried Sirius wouldn’t have anything healthy at his house), Mum put Featherlight Charms on all the presents they were bringing over, and Uncle Rabastan ensured that everyone stayed organized. After a bit of hassle and remembering three different things at the last minute, the Gaunt-Lestrange family was _finally_ able to floo to Sirius’ Christmas party.

“Merry Christmas!” Sirius shouted from the living room as soon as Hydrus stumbled out of the floo.

Hydrus grinned at his uncle. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Sirius!”

“I hope you’re ready for a sugar overload,” Sirius told him, a slight manic gleam in his eyes and a whipped cream mustache on his upper lip. “Remus found the coolest things at the muggle supermarket. They’re these delicious smelling rolls—I think he said they were called cinnamon rolls—that come in a tube. All we had to do was break them apart and put them in the oven. Even _I_ can make them without any problems!”

“We’ll be the judges of whether or not you can make these cinnamon roll things,” Mum announced, stepping out of the floo with practiced ease. 

“Well, then, you better follow me to the kitchen and try one!” Sirius declared proudly.

The cinnamon rolls, as it turned out, were in fact perfect. At least, Hydrus thought they were. He’d never been allowed to have cinnamon rolls when he’d lived with the Dursleys, and he’d never seen them in the magical world. But, after just one bite, he decided they were perhaps the most delicious things in the entire world.

“The Grangers never let me have cinnamon rolls either,” Hermione had confided in him between bites. “They were dentists, you see, and didn’t want me having anything with a lot of sugar.”

Hydrus grimaced at that. It seemed the Grangers had put up a lot of restrictions on what Hermione could or couldn’t do and claimed it was to do with their profession. He’d once heard her say they hadn’t allowed her to play sports in case she chipped a tooth. It was all very odd and gave off the impression that they just didn’t want her having any fun.

But all of Hydrus’ introspections about desserts and the Grangers came to a halt when Sirius barged into the kitchen yet again, only to slip and fall on his butt—spilling half his drink down his front in the process. 

“Drunk already, Siri?” Mum teased her cousin, as she put a steadying hand on his arm and helped him up.

Sirius chuckled and raised his glass. “Not yet, but hopefully soon. I have it on good authority that these alcoholic coffees are part of the muggle Christmas tradition.”

Remus nodded and pointed to a table full of coffee carafes and several red and green bottles of alcohol. “It’s true, though my mum usually just put straight whiskey in her coffee,” he agreed. “Would you like that, or something more adventurous, Bella? Perhaps peppermint kahlua?”

“I’d love some kahlua,” Mum said. “What is it?”

“Some kind of muggle liquer,” Sirius explained with a shrug.

Mum grinned. “Well, as long as it tastes good…”

And it did in fact taste good, at least as far as all the adults were concerned. They all took part in mug after mug of spiked coffee for the duration of the morning, growing louder and rowdier as time passed.

The teens, on the other hand, were content with their flavored hot chocolates. Sirius had bought a bunch of flavored syrups that were usually meant for making lattes and had put it upon himself to come up with all sorts of horribly sugary concoctions. Some of the combinations sounded awful, but Ursa swore by the hazelnut and marshmallow blend Sirius had made for her. No one else dare try that particular one. It sounded truly revolting.

Luckily, Hydrus didn’t have to dwell on his cousin’s disgusting choice of drink for long. Once everyone had a drink in their hand and food in their stomachs, it was time to begin the Secret Santa gift exchange Remus had put together.

The rules of the Secret Santa were simple: you could get your assigned person anything you wanted so long as it was under fifteen galleons, appropriate to open at a family gathering, and came from the muggle world. Adults and kids had their own separate name drawings so that the kids didn’t have to worry about buying scotch or cufflinks or whatever it was that adults liked, and the adults wouldn’t have to waste their time in toy stores or looking at comic books. All in all, it was a rather smart set-up.

What no one had accounted for was just how much money fifteen galleons was in the muggle world. At the current exchange rate, it had translated to just shy of eighty pounds. One could get quite a lot for eighty pounds, especially when shopping for young people. Hydrus ended up purchasing quite the haul and still had a bit of money left over.

Hydrus had gotten Ursa for his assigned person, and he couldn’t have been happier with that fact. Shopping for a ten year old girl in the muggle world was very, very easy. He had simply gone to the pinkest aisles in the toy store and bought an assortment of Barbie dolls, beanie babies, and a skip-it. Hermione had warned him that most skip-its end up being used as playground weapons, but it was a risk Hydrus was willing to take. After all, Ursa was far more likely to use it against Draco than him.

“These are so cool! What _are_ they?”

Hydrus snorted at Draco’s exclamation and turned to see what he’d gotten. In his hands was a great big stack of Marvel comic books. Spiderman, Thor, and even Captain America could be seen posing in heroic stances on the glossy covers.

Dade explained the gift as Draco finished unwrapping. More and more superhero themed presents came from the bag, and Draco stared at each new action figure and toy prop with awe as he listened to the fictionalized backstories behind it all.

From the other side of the room, Mum squealed in delight at the leggings she’d received. Remus explained that, since they were so much more durable than the tights she usually wore under her dresses, she wouldn’t have to worry about constantly re-casting anti-snag charms to keep them from falling apart. Aunt Narcissa and Aunt Andromeda looked longingly at the leggings—silently planning to get some for themselves—and asked Remus a litany of questions so they’d know which stores might sell them.

“Come on, Hydrus,” Hermione urged, nudging her brother in the side. “It’s your turn to open gifts.”

As Hydrus opened his gifts, astonished by what he found. Underneath the wrapping paper and bows was a collection of vintage muggle toys he’d been denied during his years at 4 Privet Drive—toys he’d seen his cousin play with or else heard about from the kids at his primary school. There were rollerskates and Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots and even an Etch-a-Sketch! He knew he was a bit old for some of these, but he couldn’t care less about a thing like that. He finally had a chance to play with all the things he’d wanted when he was little!

“This is incredible,” Hydrus said, trying very hard to keep his composure. “Thank you so much, Draco!”

Draco’s cheeks flushed. “Yeah, well, Dade helped a bunch when I told him who I’d gotten. Give him some of the credit, too.”

“I just know which muggle toys are cool is all,” Dade hesitantly replied.

But Hydrus didn’t buy their reluctant attitudes for a second. He was sure they knew how much these toys meant to him, and he could never thank them enough.

The remainder of the Christmas party was just as magical in its own pseudo-muggle way, but Hydrus couldn’t stop thinking about the gifts. His cousins had been so thoughtful in fulfilling childhood desires he never thought he’d have a chance to indulge in. For one of the many times since he’d found his real family, Hydrus was reminded that he truly did deserve to have good things happen to him.


	13. The Patronus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *stefan voice*: this chapter has everything—blow job jokes, the geneva conventions, magical theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter

The end of winter break was signaled by Father’s birthday and the start of the new year. Father had been less than pleased with the amount of fuss Mum and Dad and the rest of the family went through to put together a small party for him, but he begrudgingly gave his thanks and attended anyway. For someone with immense power on the Wizengamot and the title of Magic’s Chosen Dark Lord, Father was quite insistent that he didn’t want the attention of a birthday party. Hydrus had a feeling it was yet another hangup from being raised in an orphanage more than an actual dislike for attention, but wisely didn’t mention it.

As incredible as winter break had been, Hydrus was pleased to be back in school for the new term. The curriculum promised to be an interesting one—especially when it came to practical lessons for Charms, Ancient Runes, and Defense. All three classes had promised to focus on the various safety measures one could use for protection against illusions and disguises. Professor Babbling had even planned a two-week seminar on putting up runic wards that could detect if an animagus or someone under glamors had entered the warded area.

But classwork wasn’t the only reason for excitement this term. Professors and NEWT level students had teamed up to reinstate a number of clubs that had fallen by the wayside during Dumbledore’s tenure as headmaster. Every single core class now had one dedicated evening each week for students to seek help with their homework and ask questions they might not have had time for in class. The NEWT students who helped out were given extra credit for each session they attended, so there was never any shortage of people willing to tutor the younger years.

The chess and gobstones clubs had also made a comeback with a level of interest that was frankly surprising given how long they’d been cancelled. Ron had been nervous about joining the Chess Club at first, citing that he was only a third year and probably wouldn’t be any good compared to the older students. After a bit of encouragement from his friends, though, he’d put his name on the sign-up sheet and hadn’t looked back since.

“It was actually a really good challenge,” Ron had excitedly declared after the club’s first meeting. “There’s this one seventh year in Ravenclaw who was telling me all about this one strategy he’d read about in a muggle magazine…”

Hydrus had listened intently to his friend’s explanation of the strategy, even though he didn’t understand most of it. Neither he nor Hermione had ever fully gotten the hang of chess despite Ron’s attempts at teaching them. Regardless, they were happy to see that their friend had such a good time.

Once everyone had gotten settled into the new term, Professor Lupin decided to do something a bit unorthodox. So many students had asked if he’d be willing to teach them the Patronus Charm that he offered lessons to anyone who wanted to learn—regardless of year or skill level. All he had left to do was find a room to host the lessons.

_”Ah, yes,” said had Lupin. “Let me see… how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough… I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this… We can’t bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on…”_

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, however, the interest in Professor Lupin’s extra lessons had grown far too large for the History room to accommodate everyone. Rather than the group of twenty or so students he’d expected, nearly one-hundred had signed up to learn how to cast a Patronus Charm. With the help of Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Prince, everything was set up in the Great Hall instead and several teachers would be in attendance to help Lupin with keep control over the massive crowd.

Much like the failed Dueling Club experiment the year prior, all the house tables in the Great Hall had been pushed against the walls in order to make room for everyone. Luckily, the person in charge this time wasn’t an evil and somewhat incompetent criminal with an obsession for Memory Charms, so Hydrus felt this would likely go better than the Dueling Club had. Such a feat wouldn’t take much effort anyway.

“Think you’ll have to defend yet another hapless Hufflepuff from a snake this year?” Draco teased when he saw the set-up.

Before Hydrus could so much as groan in response, Justin snapped: “I wasn’t hapless! Everything was going to work out fine!”

Draco simply rolled his eyes and muttered something about how ridiculous Hufflepuffs were.

Hydrus, Draco, and Justin weren’t the only ones who noticed the parallels between today’s lesson and last year’s Dueling Club. Murmurs of “ _Expelliarmus_ ” and “that fraud Lockhart” filled the Great Hall as soon as Professor Prince swooped into the room, his black robes billowing behind him.

“At least it’ll definitely be the real Professor Prince this time,” Ron added. They never did learn whether it was their professor or Uncle Reggie who had assisted with the previous year’s Dueling Club, and neither man was willing to give a straight answer.

Neville nodded in agreement but said: “Either Prince would probably be qualified for this, though. I mean, Regulus Prince is an Unspeakable. He’s bound to know plenty about the Patronus Charm as well.”

Hydrus didn’t know what Uncle Reggie’s patronus was or if he could even cast one, but he agreed with Neville anyway. Uncle Reggie knew the magical theory behind just about everything and would be more than qualified to help out regardless of his potential casting ability.

“Welcome, everyone,” Professor Lupin announced with a smile, garnering the attention of all the students. “As you all know, we are gathered here today to learn the best known protection against dementors: the Patronus Charm. Now, _when it works correctly, it conjures up a patronus, which is a kind of anti-dementor—a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor.”_

Hydrus _had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin continued: “The patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon—hope, happiness, the desire to survive—but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can’t hurt it._ ” His expression grew serious. “But I must warn all of you that this is a highly advanced charm that even NEWT students struggle with. Do not be discouraged if you’re unable to produce anything by the end of the evening.”

Several hands shot into the air.

“Yes, Ms. Weasley?” Professor Lupin called out Ron’s little sister.

“Sir,” Ginny replied in a clear yet somewhat nervous voice, “what does a patronus look like?”

Professor Lupin smiled at Ginny. “What an excellent question. A fully corporeal patronus will look different for nearly every person who casts one. Severus, Minerva, would you care to give Ms. Weasley a demonstration?”

Professors Prince and McGonagall shouted the charm, producing two silvery, translucent animals. Professor McGonagall’s patronus, like her animagus form, was a tabby cat. Professor Prince’s, on the other hand—

“A hooded crow,” Hermione identified with ease. “They’re associated with death and the Morrigan—a Celtic war goddess.”

Ron gave the patronus an appraising look. “Makes sense. Crows are supposedly wicked smart, and you’ve got to admit that the professor’s kind of a genius.”

“Only kind of?” Draco questioned, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Ron rolled his eyes rather than dignifying that with a reply.

“Now that you know what a patronus looks like, let’s move onto how one is conjured,” Professor Lupin said, bringing everyone’s attention back to the lesson. “The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ , which, as those of you who know Latin may have realized, translates to ‘I await a guardian. Quite fitting, I must say.

“But the incantation is only part of what produces a patronus. You also need a powerful, happy memory to fuel it. Remember: the patronus protects the caster by using happy memories as a shield, so not just any vaguely happy memory will do.”

That didn’t sound too terribly difficult. Hydrus had accumulated a number of incredibly powerful happy memories ever since he was reunited with his family. He imagined that just thinking back on the moment he discovered Hermione was his sister could fend off a whole swarm of dementors.

Professor Prince added: “You need not fear that you lack a strong enough memory. While that is the most commonly used method, it is also entirely possible to use an imagined scenario that would bring you happiness. It is slightly more difficult, but no less effective.”

“Thank you for bringing that up, Severus,” Professor Lupin said graciously. “It leads into my next point about memory magic quite well…”

But Hydrus couldn’t focus on the rest of what his Defense professor had to say. An odd, sinking feeling twisted in his gut. He was certain that, had he never learned of his true parentage, he’d have to imagine a happy memory like Professor Prince had just described. There wasn’t a single moment from his time with the Dursleys that he considered happy—especially not happy enough to protect him from a dementor. After all, his time with the Dursleys was part of what made him such easy prey for those foul creatures.

“Maybe I should imagine kicking Roger Davies’ arse in chess,” Ron mused, snapping Hydrus out of his increasingly negative train of thought. “Can’t imagine a single thing that’d make me happier than wiping the smirk off that smug bastard’s face.”

“Language, Ronald!” Hermione scolded, though she looked like she was fighting back an amused grin.

Ron shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Davies _is_ a rather smug bastard,” Draco agreed.

Hydrus was sure Draco had never met this Roger Davies fellow and was only agreeing so that he could annoy Hermione. Judging by the slight frown on his sister’s face, it had worked.

“If you could all break into groups for practice, please!” Professor Lupin announced. “Us professors will be making our rounds to answer any questions you may have. And I cannot stress this last point enough: do _not_ aim the spell at anyone, especially if you’re unsure of the pronunciation.”

Hermione turned to face their group, who were all still looking towards Professor Lupin. “You all heard the incantation clearly, right?” she asked them.

Hydrus, Draco, Ron, and Neville all nodded—though Neville looked rather hesitant. “It’s more the memory part that I’m worried about than the spell itself,” he admitted. “I wish we’d gotten more information on what constitutes a powerful memory.”

“I’m sure anything to do with your parents would be strong enough,” Hydrus assured his friend, patting him firmly on the shoulder. “That’s what I’ll be using. A memory of my parents, that is.”

Neville grew a bit more confident at that suggestion. Like Hydrus and Hermione, not getting to know his parents until recently made each moment he got to spend with them that much more impactful.

Hydrus, meanwhile, focused on finding a memory of his own. There were quite a few that he was certain would be good enough for fueling a patronus, but he wasn’t sure which one was the best. Meeting his Mum and Dad after they had been released from Azkaban was certainly a good one, but so was learning that Hermione was his sister, discovering the identity of the mysterious T.M.R., and arriving at Malfoy Manor to spend the summer with his family for the very first time.

Eventually, he settled on the memory of meeting Hermione at King’s Cross Station before they even knew who the other was. There had been some level of recognition even back then, some immediate sense of belonging that tied them together from the very moment they crossed the barrier to reach Platform 9 and ¾ side by side. It wasn’t necessarily a happy memory, but it was hopeful and powerful and, to Hydrus, represented the exact moment his life changed for the better.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he cried out—only for absolutely nothing to happen. He frowned at his wand as if it were at fault. His memory had been good enough; he was certain. So why hadn’t anything sprung from the tip of his wand?

A glance over at his friends showed that Hermione, Draco, and Ron were all having just as much trouble as him. Neville, however, had managed to produce a fine, silvery mist. It was a far cry from a corporeal patronus, but it was the best in their group.

Hydrus’ second attempt at the Patronus Charm was no better. Once again, nothing happened. It was rather frustrating, which he knew would only make his third attempt more difficult. He needed to push through his disappointment and focus harder on his memory. There was no chance of casting a patronus if he was in a bad mood.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Ron, his face lit up in delight. Like Neville, he’d managed a bit of silvery mist.

“How did you manage that?” Hermione asked, staring wide-eyed at the rapidly fading mist. “I’m focusing on the memory and everything, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did what Professor Lupin said.”

After a deep, steadying breath and a dozen more tries, Hydrus _finally_ managed to produce a mist. It felt cold and strange and faded almost as soon as it appeared. The whole thing felt rather unpleasant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to cast it again if it would always feel like that.

By the time the session ended, Hydrus’ entire friend group had been able to get at least a mist. Neville’s lasted the longest and was starting to solidify a little bit, but it hadn’t yet progressed to a shield or guardian animal. Still, they all felt a small sense of accomplishment. Students much older and much more advanced than them hadn’t even managed the mist.

“Maybe next week will go even better,” Neville said with a grin. “I can’t wait to see what everyone’s guardian will look like.”

Hydrus nodded in agreement, but he wasn’t nearly as hopeful as Neville. He wasn’t used to spells being so difficult for him and couldn’t help but feel discouraged. What if it really was too advanced for him? What if he never learned how to defend himself against the dementors? He shuddered to think what might happen to him if that were the case.

*****

“Just when I thought Fudge couldn’t become any more of a moron than he already is…”

Hydrus looked up from breakfast to see Draco scowling at this morning’s _Daily Prophet_ as thought it had personally offended him. Knowing Draco’s penchant for dramatics, it probably had.

“What’s he done now?” Hydrus asked his cousin, only barely curious.

Fudge did something stupid just about every week. It was getting embarrassing, or at least it would have, if the minister had even half as much sense as a normal person. Instead, he blustered on without thought, making a fool of himself at every turn and thinking nothing of the long-term damage he was causing his reputation.

Just last week, Fudge had put his support behind highly controversial anti-goblin legislature despite every reasonable person’s argument that it war would break out if it passed. He spent three days giving the news all sorts of quotes about how the goblins needed to be controlled and couldn’t get away with it—whatever “it” was supposed to be. It took the goblins freezing his accounts and refusing him entry into Gringotts for him to renege on his idiotic plans.

“He’s put out an order to have Pettigrew Kissed on sight,” Draco sneered. “As if that’d do anyone any good! It reeks of a cover-up if you ask me.”

“I’d bet anything one of those Dumbledore supporting sheep in the Wizengamot gave him the idea,” Theo said darkly, stabbing his scrambled eggs with vicious fervor. “I just _know_ they’re all harboring that monster somewhere, and he’s probably told them Pettigrew’s got too much dirt on him to be allowed to live.”

Hydrus grimaced, hoping that wasn’t the case even though it was quite possible. Despite his numerous crimes being publicly aired out, there was still a small faction among the Wizengamot that were slavishly devoted to Dumbledore. Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle were the two most vocal Dumbledore die-hards, but a few quieter, more discreet followers remained as well. It wouldn’t take much for one of the latter to buy Fudge’s influence.

“Pettigrew getting Kissed would certainly keep a few things from the war from getting out,” Hydrus reluctantly agreed. “From Sirius and Remus have told me, there’s a good chance he was a spy for Dumbledore. He probably knows all sorts of stuff he shouldn’t.”

All the boys shuddered at the thought of Dumbledore having spies.

“Why do they call it a Dementor’s Kiss anyway?” Blaise asked. “Seems a bit tame of a label for an act that sucks out a person’s soul.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at that. “Well they can’t exactly call it the Dementor’s _Suck_ , now can they?” he quipped. “Can you imagine the headlines if they did? ‘Pettigrew Sentenced to be Sucked’ just doesn’t have the right ring to it.”

Hydrus laughed despite himself, unable to remain mature enough not to. Luckily, his friends laughed as well—with Theo’s cheeks going red from trying to keep it all in before finally breaking. It seemed there wasn’t a single thirteen year old boy who could resist the urge to crack up at anything that so much as vaguely passed for innuendo.

“Okay, okay,” Blaise gasped between burst of chuckling, “but really, why call it a Kiss? It doesn’t exactly sound sinister.”

Theo went into teacher mode. “It’s because there’s allegedly a mouth under the dementor’s hood,” he explained matter-of-factly. “They latch onto their victims with their mouth and pull the soul out that way. The worst part is that it doesn’t kill the body. There’s still brain activity to keep it alive, but the soul is gone.” He shuddered. “No one knows for certain if the victim’s consciousness continues on in the body, or if it ends up inside the dementor along with the soul.”

“And we just do that to people? Absolutely barbaric!” Draco declared, looking even paler than usual.

“Especially since muggle Britain doesn’t even have the death penalty anymore,” Hydrus agreed.

The cocked his head to the side. “Death penalty?”

Once again, Hydrus was blown away by how little purebloods knew of the muggle world. Hadn’t the term death penalty existed back before the Statute of Secrecy? Sentencing people to death certainly had.

“That’s what they call it when, if a muggle kills someone in a particularly callous or cruel way, the government decides to kill them for it,” Hydrus explained, hoping he was doing the subject justice. “That’s basically what happened to Nearly Headless Nick, you know, except I think he was convicted for witchcraft. The government didn’t like that, so they cut his head off.”

Three sets of alarmed eyes stared at him. “They’d go around cutting people’s heads off?” Draco asked. “How’d they even manage that? They don’t have severing curses or anything.”

“I’m pretty sure they did it with an axe,” Hydrus admitted. 

“An axe,” Theo repeated, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “But you said the muggles don’t do that anymore, right?”

Hydrus nodded. “Well, Britain doesn’t anyway. Other countries still have the death penalty, but I don’t think they’re using axes.” Pausing, he added, “At least, I hope they don’t. I imagine that’d be against the Geneva Conventions. Hermione would probably know more about the specifics of that, though.”

“Yeah, of course it should be,” Blaise said slowly. “And what are the Geneva Conventions exactly?”

It took all of Hydrus’ willpower to not slam his head repeatedly against the table. Hogwarts really needed to introduce a muggle history class of some sort.

*****

January faded into February, but Hydrus still hadn’t made any progress with his patronus. He was starting to worry he never would. Maybe it really was too advanced for him like Professor Lupin had warned.

It didn’t help that he kept thinking about the mechanics of the Dementor’s Kiss. He couldn’t chase away the mental image of one of those awful creatures lowering its hood and latching his mouth onto his. And hadn’t Barty once told them that dementors are blind? Was it possible that they’d confuse a student for Peter Pettigrew and perform the Kiss on their innocent prey?

Hermione was just as frustrated with her own miniscule improvement in casting the Patronus Charm. Rather than despair, though, she had begun to dedicate every free moment in her schedule to researching everything there was to know about the spell. She was determined to find some sort of logic behind their inability to produce more than a mist—and she refused to accept the idea that it was because the charm was too advanced for them.

“There’s no such thing as ‘too advanced’,” she’d insisted, burying her nose in yet another library book. “It’s a matter of knowledge and determination, not whether you’ve turned the correct age or passed enough exams.”

Hydrus could hardly argue with that.

And so, after several weeks of putting it off, Hydrus had finally started joining his sister for her research sessions. He might not have her eidetic memory or her signature Ravenclaw intellect, but he was by no means an idiot. He’d be more than capable of helping in the hunt to learn whatever it was they weren’t understanding in Professor Lupin’s sessions.

“I’ve got it!”

Hydrus startled at his sister’s proclamation. They’d been at the library for more than two hours, and he’d all but forgotten about everything going on outside of the book he was reading.

“What do you have?” he asked.

“The theory behind why Neville and Ron are progressing much faster than us with the Patronus Charm,” she explained, “and why they claim it feels pleasant when we don’t get that feeling.”

“And?” he urged her. “What is it?”

Focusing on the pages in front of her, Hermione read: “Despite the need for clear intent like is found in much of Dark magic, the Patronus Charm is one of the best known spells that can be classified as truly Light. It requires the caster to draw upon emotions not only of intense joy and comfort, but also upon the desire to protect. Indeed, it is believed that the very shape one’s patronus takes is a representation of whatever person or persons is most synonymous with protection in the caster’s mind.

“Due to the Patronus Charm’s light nature, it tends to be significantly more difficult for those with Gray and Dark affinities to cast and can even cause discomfort in those who manage it. That discomfort is caused by the performance of magic that is incompatible with the caster’s core. It can be overcome, but it requires significantly more effort and focus for those who do lack a Light affinity.”

Relief washed over Hydrus as his sister’s words set in. It wasn’t his fault that he was having so much trouble with the spell, and it wasn’t because it was too advanced. The Patronus Charm simply wasn’t a form of magic he was suited for.

“No wonder we’re struggling so much,” Hermione continued, still focusing on her book. “It’d be like trying to make Ron learn blood magic or teach Neville the Imperius Curse. They could theoretically manage it, but it wouldn’t come at all naturally.”

“We’re not hopeless after all,” Hydrus breathed, the implications still rolling around in his head. The part about intent in particular resonated with him. As someone with a Dark affinity, converting his magic into pure happiness wouldn’t be an easy task. But if he could focus on the intent of the spell—if he could focus on protecting someone or something—he might have a better chance of success.

“We were never hopeless. We just had a natural disadvantage we didn’t know about,” Hermione insisted, looking like she couldn’t believe her brother would say something so ridiculous.

“Right. Of course,” Hydrus offhandedly agreed, “but now we’ve got a better chance of compensating for it. Abandoned classroom?”

Hermione nodded eagerly. She didn’t need any clarification. She understood perfectly what Hydrus meant. It was hardly the first time they ran off to practice spells in an abandoned classroom.

The twins hurried to put their library books back on the shelves, and then, as quickly as they could without getting scolded for running in the halls, the two of them dashed off to one of the unused rooms just down the corridor. It was their preferred practice room since it was close to the library and a reasonable distance between both of their dorms.

As always, the room was dark and empty when they arrived. A quick _Incendio_ aimed at the torches and several desks pushed away later, they were ready to go.

Hydrus took a deep breath and turned his thoughts inward. Rather than focus on a memory, he thought of the most important person in his life: Hermione. They’d found one another despite all the odds against them, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to prevent them from being separated now. He’d protect her to his dying day.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he shouted.

This time, the mist thickened and shone brighter than it ever had before. It wasn’t a discernable shape yet, but it was enough to encourage Hydrus to try again.

He allowed himself to get lost in his own mind. No longer was he standing in an empty classroom. He was eleven and making his first and best friend at King’s Cross Station. He was standing in front of a mirror that showed him his deepest desire—a family. He was sitting in Gringotts and learning that he still had parents, and that they were alive. He was twelve and sharing his first ever birthday party with his twin sister. He was thirteen and laughing harder than he ever had in his life. Every high and low over the past two years, and the same person stood by his side for every single moment of it.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ”

Bright silver light erupted from the end of his wand and shot up in the air, circling the room on impressive wings. He felt cold and strange and his skin was tingling, but in that moment, he couldn’t have been happier. He’d cast a corporeal patronus.

“A falcon!” Hermione exclaimed. “Oh, but that’s perfect for you! The book said they’re a symbol of victory and adventure and new beginnings!”

The patronus faded just as quickly as it had appeared, but Hydrus didn’t mind one bit. He’d done it! He’d finally be able to protect himself from the dementors.


	14. Visions and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i own jack shit  
> 2\. damn i had trouble getting this chapter out of my head and onto the page

By the time March rolled around, Hermione and all of her friends who’d been attending Professor Lupin’s extra lessons were able to produce either a shield or corporeal patronus. Neville’s great, big grizzly bear was the most surprising of their guardians, as no one could quite see how such a ferocious animal could be the best possible representation of their sweetest, kindest friend. Hermione’s fox, meanwhile, made perfect sense—as foxes were known for their cunning and intelligence.

“It’s the perfect patronus for the child of Slytherins and a Ravenclaw,” Draco had declared when it sprung from her wand for the first time.

“Especially when said child is also friends with Fred and George,” Ron added.

Hermione had agreed. She’d also taught them far more about foxes and their symbolism around the world than they could have ever possibly wanted to know—though only Ron had looked truly overwhelmed by the vast amount of knowledge she’d shared. All in all, it was an insightful experience for everyone involved.

“Now do ours!” Fred and George had pleaded before conjuring two identical coyote patroni.

Remembering the part of the animal symbolism book she’d read that focused on American folklore, she told the twins all about the sneaky, underhanded nature of the coyote. “They’re commonly depicted as tricksters and chaos gods in Native American folklore,” she’d added, almost as an afterthought.

Fred and George turned to each other and broke out in Cheshire grins. “Wicked!” they declared.

Hermione had a feeling they’d be researching everything they could about Native American folklore and religions until they knew everything there was to know about their new guardian animals.

But the Patronus Charm lessons were far from the only interesting thing going on at Hogwarts. With the help of Professor Lupin, Hermione, Fred, George, and Luna had all managed to create several copies of the Marauders’ Map. Fred and George had done most of the work once they’d gotten a better understanding of how to duplicate such intricate charms work without corrupting any of the underlying magic. Hermione and Luna, meanwhile, had taken to exploring the school in search of possible missing rooms to add to the map. They’d even brought Padma into the fold so they could have an extra set of eyes.

“Do you think we should add the Chamber of Secrets entrance?” Hermione asked worriedly when they’d double-checked the second floor corridor that housed Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She didn’t want to betray the secrets of her father’s family, but she didn’t want to leave out a potential hiding spot for Pettigrew either.

Luna cocked her head to the side, seemingly confused. “Why? Who would be able to enter except your family?”

Hermione didn’t have anything more to say to that. After all, Luna was right. Only a parselmouth could open the entrance. There was no chance Peter Pettigrew or anyone else was hiding down there. She could keep the chamber a secret without feeling guilty.

“Besides, isn’t there a basilisk in there?” Padma added with a shudder. “I’d prefer to stay as far away from there as possible.”

“And snakes eat rats,” Luna pointed out.

Hermione doubted a basilisk would have any interest in eating something as small as a rat, but she couldn’t deny that Luna had brought up a good point. No rat in their right mind would seek refuge near a predator—not even one as stupid and sniveling as Peter Pettigrew.

In the end, there were about a dozen rooms in the castle that needed to either be added or edited on the Marauders’ Map. Three of the existing rooms had mysteriously disappeared since the Marauders were in school, four more had been added, and the final five had either been overlooked or mismarked. The girls had marked down each change on their static copy of the map, and once they were certain they’d gotten everything, they brought it to Professor Lupin so he could integrate their updates into the original map.

“We’ve certainly got a better look at the lower floors now,” Professor Lupin had said with a smile as he added three rooms to the dungeons, “especially Slytherin and Hufflepuff territory.”

“It makes things easier when you know people in those houses,” Hermione had replied.

Padma nodded her head. “Yeah, Ron and Hydrus were especially helpful.”

Borrowing the Potter invisibility cloak from Hydrus had also been a great advantage, particularly for getting into places that were out of bounds, but none of the girls were about to admit to a professor that they’d been sneaking around with such a thing. It didn’t matter if that professor was a Marauder and was aware of the cloak. Some things just weren’t worth risking.

“Traitors tend to find themselves in dungeons,” Luna said in a dreamy, faraway voice that gave Hermione the sneaking suspicion that the younger girl had just been struck by a moment of precognition.

Professor Lupin’s eyes went wide with alarm for just a moment before he told her in a too calm voice: “Yes, I suppose that usually is the case.”

Hermione wasn’t quite sure if Luna meant that Pettigrew would be found in the Hogwarts dungeons or if her statement had been a prediction of the sort of holding cell he’d have once he was captured, so she decided it best to prepare for either possibility. It didn’t take much for her to convince Professor Lupin to talk to Professors Sprout and Prince about adding additional wards to the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dormitories. In turn, Professor Lupin had even less resistance convincing the two Heads of House. Professor Sprout readily agreed to take any and every suggestion they had to keep her students safe. Professor Prince, on the other hand, had already taken care of the issue months ago and warded the Slytherin dormitories so heavily that no one would be able to get in or out without his knowing.

“Pettigrew was Percy Prewett-Weasley’s rat for years before he was Ronald Weasley’s,” Professor Prince explained when asked why he’d gone to such lengths. “I didn’t want to take any chances in case he remembered enough from that time to stage an attack on the Slytherin dorms.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She hadn’t even considered how much “Scabbers” might have seen and learned from his years as the Weasleys’ pet. At the very least, he’d have seen the inside of both Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

Professor Lupin looked equally alarmed. “It would be helpful to know what exactly his goal was within the school,” he’d admitted. “At the very least, we’d have a better idea of what to plan for.”

“Indeed,” Professor Prince drawled. “However, those of us with higher brain functioning can hardly understand the motivations of a rodent. If he had any intellect at all, he wouldn’t dare risk being seen by someone who could turn him over to the dementors.”

“Yes, well, Wormtail’s strengths never did lie in using his head,” Professor Lupin ruefully agreed. “It’s more his obsessive desire to follow and obey the strongest wizard around that gives him any value to Dumbledore.”

“That and his small size,” Hermione stated. “I mean, Dumbledore’s sure to have far smarter and far more magically powerful followers who simply don’t have enough stealth on their side to sneak into a heavily guarded location like Hogwarts.”

“Well, he certainly won’t be able to sneak around much longer,” Professor Prince declared, a murderous glint in his eyes.

Hermione didn’t doubt him at all.

By the time the map was complete and the dungeon dormitories were thoroughly warded, Hermione felt a strong sense of accomplishment. Her and her friends had done all they could to help safeguard the school. It was up to the adults from here on out.

*****

The whole school was buzzing with excitement the following morning, but not because of Peter Pettigrew or Patronus Charm lessons. The Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw quidditch game was today, and it was sure to be a good one. While Slytherin far out-performed the Gryffindor team, Ravenclaw would promise a much closer match. No one was entirely sure who would win, and for once, the students were far more excited about the outcome than strictly supporting their own house.

Hydrus, Ron, and their Slytherin friends had all decided to put their support behind Ravenclaw, although that was mostly so they could cheer for Fred and George. Draco had claimed that the centuries long rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin had something to do with it as well, but for the most part, it was because none of them knew anyone on the Gryffindor team.

Ron’s interest in the game, however, extended far beyond a desire to support his older brothers. He’d been analyzing all the house team seekers along with Draco and had gotten far too invested in his analysis. The seeker’s match strategies he’d come up with were nearly as detailed as any one of Hermione’s research projects.

“I’m telling you right now that,” he’d said between too-large bites of pancakes, “there’s no way that Gryffindor’s seeker will get the snitch. Cho Chang, for all her faults, is a far superior seeker.”

Hydrus suspected that the faults Ron had mentioned were more to do with her being rude to his brothers than anything related to her quidditch skills, but he supposed it was still an important point to make. After all, the twins had “accidentally” allowed bludgers to sneak past them and hit Cho in the past. There was no telling when her attitude might inspire them to do it again.

“Ravenclaw’s keeper is rather lacking, though,” Draco pointed out. “Even if they do win, it won’t be because Gryffindor had any trouble scoring.”

Blaise let out a noncommittal hum. “Isn’t the Gryffindor keeper being scouted by professional teams?” he asked.

Ron nodded. “Yeah. Fred and George heard it from Lee Jordan that Oliver Wood’s already got a contract pending with Puddlemere United for after he graduates.”

Draco let out a long, low whistle. “Damn.”

“I’ll admit that’s impressive,” Hermione begrudgingly said, “but I doubt Gryffindor will win today. Like Ron said, Cho’s the better seeker. Besides, it’s not as if the rest of the team is bad. We’ve just got an inconsistent keeper.”

Hydrus would’ve been surprised to hear his sister give an opinion on quidditch were it not for one particular contributing factor: Fred and George planned to smuggle butterbeer and chocolates from Hogsmeade if their team won. Hermione might not be one for sports or parties, but she had quite the weakness for butterbeer. It was likely to be the only reason she was invested in today’s game.

Regardless of their motivations for doing so, the teens joined the rest of the school in hurrying down to the quidditch pitch after breakfast. It was a bit chilly out and a few of Hydrus’ friends needed to cast warming charms on themselves to keep from shivering, but they were all thankful that it at least wasn’t as miserable out as it had been for the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor game a few months back. Between that and the distinct lack of dementors nearby, Hydrus had a feeling that today’s game would be far more enjoyable.

“Oh, how lovely! There’s hardly any wrackspurts clogging up the stadium today,” Luna had declared proudly once they found their seats.

Hydrus silently asked Hermione what on earth a wrackspurt was, but all his sister did was shrug in response. She might understand Luna-speak a bit better than the Slytherins, but she was by no means an expert at direct translation.

“Do… do wrackspurts clog up the stadium often?” Hydrus hesitantly asked.

“No, not really,” Luna assured him, “though the infestation has been far worse this year than it was last year. I suspect it’s the dementors giving them plenty to feed from.”

Hydrus grimaced at the mention of dementors. He didn’t want anything to do with these wrackspurts—whatever they were supposed to be—if they thrived on the presence of the dreaded guards of Azkaban.

But talk of wrackspurts and dementors were quickly forgotten when both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams flew onto the pitch. The game started off with a bang as one of the Ravenclaw chasers was nearly knocked off her broom by a Gryffindor beater, resulting in a penalty against the Gryffindor team. Ravenclaw managed to get their penalty shot past Oliver Wood. The 10-0 score within the first thirty seconds of the game set off both teams, with Ravenclaw using the energy of the early score to motivate them and Gryffindor going on the defensive until they had a chance to turn the tides.

“Chang and McLaggen both need to get their heads in the game,” Draco muttered nearly a half hour into the game. “I’ve spotted the snitch twice already, yet neither of them have made a go for it.”

“When has McLaggen ever used his head?” Hermione quipped, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Hydrus remembered the fight Cormac McLaggen had gotten into last week with Adrian Pucey and repressed a shudder. His sister was right. No one in their right mind would have ever dared go after Adrian like that, not even a seventh year. Yet McLaggen had done it anyway simply because he didn’t like Slytherins. One could only hope he’d learned his lesson…

“He _is_ rather lacking in self-preservation,” Luna agreed.

Theo snorted at the understatement. “He’s the sort that gives Gryffindors a bad name—always mouthing off and getting into trouble just to show how tough he thinks he is.”

“Ginny’s been thinking of trying out for seeker next year,” Ron confided in them. “She’d initially wanted to wait another year or so on account of how small she is, but she’s decided she can’t wait any longer to get him off the team.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at that. He had no doubt that Ginny would succeed in beating McLaggen for the position, even if she had to resort to sabotage to get it done. She could be quite underhanded when she wanted to be.

All of a sudden, Luna went white as chalk. Her eyes grew vacant and glassy, and for a moment, Hydrus was worried she would faint. And then, as quickly as it had come over her, the strange spell ended.

“Be careful tonight, Hydrus Lestrange and Draco Malfoy,” she said in a far too serious voice. “I cannot See the details, but there is a great danger approaching.”

Hydrus and Draco turned to each other, alarmed. Neither of them felt much up for watching quidditch after a warning like that.

*****

Ravenclaw won the game by only twenty points. True to their word, Fred and George ended up smuggling butterbeers from Hogsmeade. They’d even gone as far as sneaking into Slytherin territory to share a few with Hydrus and his friends. That they’d found the entrance wasn’t so surprising due to their having a copy of the Marauders’ Map, but Hydrus decided he was better off not knowing how they got the password to get in. Some mysteries simply weren’t worth solving.

Far less mysterious was how the Weasley twins had managed to get away with the whole thing. The map showed a number of secret passages for getting off the school grounds undetected. And with Professor Lupin being the only teacher in the know, there was little chance of them getting in trouble. Even if their Defense professor _did_ see them sneak out, he was hardly the sort to do anything about it unless he feared for their safety.

The third year Slytherin boys were pleasantly full of sugar by the time they went to bed. Hydrus had all but forgotten about Luna’s warning as he slipped between his sheets and dozed off. Instead of worries and dangers, he had pleasant—if not odd—dreams about quidditch and his Arithmancy class and vampires who were far too friendly. The vampires wanted to help him with his Arithmancy homework, and then one of them turned into the Count from Sesame Street and started lecturing him about the properties of numbers—

A high-pitched shriek startled Hydrus into wakefulness. He jumped at the sound, nearly falling out of bed. His senses were on high alert, and he could sense sounds and shadows even where there were none. Anything and everything could have bene the source of that scream.

“What the hell?” grunted an exhausted and irritated Blaise.

Hydrus _thought he heard the dormitory door slam. At last finding the divide in his curtains, he ripped them back, and at the same moment,_ Theo lit the lamps with an _Incendio_.

Draco _was sitting up in bed, the hangings torn from one side, a look of utmost terror on his face._

“Peter Pettigrew!” he shouted. “He was in here! And he had a knife!”

“WHAT?”

Hydrus’ heart began racing at a mile a minute, and the palms of his hands grew clammy. That traitorous little rat had been in here? And he was armed? There was no way this would end well…

Had this been what Luna meant by her warning? He knew her Sight was more attuned to the secrets of the present, but had the threat of Pettigrew been so urgent that the Fates had given her hints as to the future? And if so, why couldn’t they have showed her more? This wasn’t nearly enough to go on!

“Did you have a nightmare, Draco?” Greg asked groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Can’t have done,” Vince said, shaking his head. “Look at his curtains. They’re slashed to bits.”

Greg took a second look towards Draco’s bed and went white as a sheet. “Blimey! Someone really _was_ in here!”

“It was Peter Pettigrew!” Draco insisted.

_They all scrambled out of bed; Hydrus reached the dormitory door first, and they sprinted back down the staircase. Doors opened behind them, and sleepy voices called after them._

_”Who shouted?”_

_”What’re you doing?”_

“What the fu—”

“Language! There’s kids listening!”

The common room had long since cleared out for the night, and the only light came from the dying fire. Hydrus cast a _Lumos_ so he could find the door. Even if Draco was wrong and it wasn’t Peter Pettigrew, Professor Prince needed to know someone had broken into their dormitories.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into you boys?”

Hydrus whipped around to see Percy Prewett-Weasley standing at the foot of the staircase with his hands on his hips. His green pajamas were crumpled and his eyelids were heavy with sleep, but despite his fatigued state, he managed to look thoroughly disappointed in them.

“Someone was in our dorm,” Blaise explained as calmly as one could considering the circumstances.

“It was Peter Pettigrew,” Draco said once again. “He slashed up the curtains around my bed.” 

Professor Prince strode into the room, his wand out and eyes alert. “Is everyone alright?” he asked. “The animagus alarm was tripped.”

Anyone who might’ve thought Draco had a nightmare suddenly blanched. Here was irrefutable proof that an animagus had broken into their dormitories. Even Hydrus, who had already believed his cousin’s story, felt a bit ill at the professor’s words.

“The third year boys say it was Pettigrew,” Percy informed him.

Professor Prince gave a sharp nod. “Go fetch your wands, everyone! We’re on high alert until we figure out what happened.”

With much panicking and a few screams, the students ran back to their rooms to grab their wands. Thankfully, no one’s wand had been taken by Pettigrew. That didn’t mean he was without one, but Hydrus had let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he found his holly wand exactly where he’d left it before bed. The mere thought that the rat might’ve touched it turned his stomach more than he cared to admit.

“Has anyone found the knife he was holding?” Draco asked suddenly. “He can’t have taken it with him when he transformed, right?”

With a slight shudder, Theo reminded him: “Animagi transform with their clothes and wands all the time. Bringing a knife along for the transformation is hardly a stretch.”

“Mr. Nott is quite right,” Profesor Prince stated, though he didn’t look at all pleased about that fact. “Even a wizard as pathetically weak as Pettigrew would have no issue taking along whatever was in his pockets when he transformed. You should all assume he is armed and dangerous.”

That set off yet another wave of panic through Slytherin house, particularly among the younger years. There was quite a bit of screaming and cowering, and there was only so much Professor Prince and the prefects could do to keep everyone under control.

It was beginning to look like a riot would break out when Hydrus felt something smooth and strong rub up against his ankle. Tensing, he looked down to see Iris wrapping herself around his leg. He exhaled, relaxed, and then took a second look at her. There was something in her mouth, something familiar.

“Professor!” he called out, his voice shaky and breaths unevening. “Professor! I’ve found Peter Pettigrew!”


	15. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter pettigrew gets what he deserves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. this short, belated chapter was brought to you by: a new divorce in the family

Severus Prince was hardly the type to trust the Ministry of Magic’s version of justice. Three of his friends and a former enemy had been imprisoned in Azkaban without trial for crimes they’d never committed, all while countless guilty wizards and witches walked free because of their money and influence. And so, since the Ministry didn’t see it fit to hold a trial for Peter Pettigrew, Severus would question the traitor himself.

That was why, in the fifteen minutes since Hydrus’ snake brought him the incapacitated rat, Severus had transformed his office into an interrogation room. A vial of Veritserum had been procured from his personal stores. The now human Pettigrew sat slumped in his chair, unconscious—held upright only by the restraints keeping him in place. All that was left was to seal the room off once the rest of the interrogators arrived.

Pettigrew twitched slightly in his sleep, and Severus sneered at the sight. It took every ounce of his self-control not to kill the bastard right then and there. How dare he betray Lily! How dare he let her die! Yet Severus knew he had to let the traitor live, at least for now, if he ever wanted answers to come from Pettigrew’s sniveling, pathetic mouth.

Three harsh knocks banged against the office door. Severus turned, both disappointed and relieved, that the others had arrived. They would no doubt force him to keep his temper in check, no matter how much he wished he didn’t have to.

“Enter,” he called out to his would-be guests.

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and the Dark Lord—who preferred his relatively new name of Marvolo Gaunt over his title these days—made their way into the dark dungeon room. Marvolo grimaced, disgusted and enraged by the very sight of Pettigrew. Black and Lupin were holding onto one another as tight as they could, as if they needed to restrain one another to stop themselves from attacking their former friend. And Minerva, for all her propriety and respectable demeanor, the most murderous gleam in her eye of the bunch.

Perhaps they would not be so interested in helping Severus control his temper after all.

Severus had half expected Minerva and Remus not to show. The werewolf was hardly one for violence, and he’d spent so many years of his life trying to prove he wasn’t dangerous that Severus wondered if he hadn’t started to believe himself too tame for this revenge.

Minerva, meanwhile, was a by-the-book sort. She’d only been informed of Pettigrew’s capture as a courtesy due to her being headmistress. Severus had braced himself for her sharp lecture on not following protocol and even for her to insist he and the others not interfere with the Ministry’s edict, but it never came. Instead, she’d given him a terse nod and said she’d be there shortly. She’d loved James and Lily far too much not to get justice of her own.

As soon as the last of his guests shut the door behind them, Severus cast the spells to seal the room from so that no one could come in or out. Even if Pettigrew were to get loose and change into his rat form, he wouldn’t be able to find a single hole or crevice to escape through. They would have ample time to take advantage of this opportunity for interrogation before following the Ministry’s orders to have him Kissed on sight.

“If you’re all ready,” Marvolo drawled, “I’ll wake the traitor. _Rennervate_.”

Gasping, Peter Pettigrew jolted into consciousness, twitching and trembling as he took in his surroundings. His watery eyes grew wide and terrified once he finally focused on his captors’ faces. He struggled against his bindings and searched frantically for an escape route, desperate to free himself of his wholly deserved fate.

When at last he realized there was no escape, he turned to Black and Lupin and gave them a pleading look. “Sirius, Remus, my old friends—”

“You dare?” Black growled. “You dare call me your friend after setting me up for TEN YEARS IN AZKABAN!?”

Black lunged at the rat, but, much to Severus’ disappointment, Lupin held him back. “He’s no use to us dead,” he admonished his husband.

“Not yet anyway,” Minerva corrected, a dangerous look in her eyes.

Pettigrew tried yet again to plead to his former friends’ sympathies, but was met with a Silencing Spell from Lupin—who declared there was nothing the rat could possibly say that would convince them to spare his life.

Severus took the silence as an opportunity to grab Pettigrew roughly by the jaw and force three drops of Veritaserum down his throat. Pettigrew struggled against it, shaking and teeth gnashing like a wild animal, but he was no match for Severus’ strength.

“You can lift the Silencing Spell now,” he assured Lupin once the Veritaserum began to take hold.

With the wave of the wand, the rat once again capable of speech.

“I have no doubts as to Severus’ brewing ability,” Marvolo began before turning to Pettigrew, “but for the sake of being official, state your name.”

“Peter Richard Pettigrew,” the traitor stated calmly.

“What’s your animagus form?” Black asked.

“A common brown rat.”

Marvolo nodded. “The Veritaserum is working as it should, not that I had any doubts.”

Severus couldn’t help but smirk. He expected no less from his own brew. It was far purer and more potent than that swill the Ministry used.

“What was the purpose of your infiltrating the school?” Minerva demanded to know.

Pettigrew looked up at her with glazed eyes. “To kidnap Hydrus Lestrange.”

Someone gasped, and Severus’ jaw clenched so hard he worried his teeth might crack. “For what purpose?” he inquired, barely maintaining his composure.

“Albus Dumbledore wishes to have his Harry Potter back,” Pettigrew explained in monotone. “He needs a broken-down, compliant champion to restore his reputation. Without his Harry Potter, he will never get away with claiming You-Know-Who has returned and leveraging that fact to get his former power reinstated.”

“Well that’s beyond delusional,” Marvolo muttered.

Severus was inclined to agree. Memories and magical residue tied Albus Dumbledore to the scene of the Potters’ murders. There was no recovering from that. The public adored their fallen heroes far too much to allow it.

And Hydrus had never truly been the obedient little Harry Potter that Dumbledore had wanted. He was too strong willed and clever, and had never been one to trust the inherent authority of adults. Even if Dumbledore could get the boy to forget his true name and the past few years of using it, there was no changing his personality to fit the former headmaster’s sick manipulations. He’d sooner kill the old fool than work for him.

Minerva’s lips turned down into an indignant frown. “Does Dumbledore truly expect such a half-assed plan to work?” she asked no one in particular.

“He expects that either it will work, or that he’ll be forced to kill the boy,” Pettigrew answered. “He doesn’t particularly care either way.”

A violent crackle of Marvolo’s magic shook the room. “The hell he will!” he growled. “He will suffer beyond all measure for so much as entertaining the idea!”

Minerva placed a reassuring hand on Marvolo’s shoulder, and the magical outburst calmed to a low hum of ambient energy. Marvolo looked no less enraged, but he was no longer a danger to the school’s very foundation. The same could not be said for Black and Lupin. 

“Azkaban will seem like a mercy by the time we’re done!” Black agreed darkly.

Lupin inclined his head in agreement. “If we leave him alive long enough to make it there.”

“Might I remind you all that Veritaserum only last so long?” Severus said sharply. It took a full lunar cycle to brew, and he’d rather not waste multiple doses of something so delicately produced on a worthless pawn like Pettigrew.

“Right, of course,” Black quickly replied, though it was obvious that the potion was the last thing on his mind.

With a sharp inhale, Marvolo inquired: “Why did Dumbledore wish to create a replacement Harry Potter in the first place?”

“For the prophecy,” Pettigrew confessed. “Neville Longbottom was not strong enough as a baby to be a valid contender, and the original Harry Potter had been a stillborn. He needed a powerful child to replace Harry Potter so that he could lure You-Know-Who out into the open for a duel, set the Potters up for death, and confiscate their assets under the guise of raising of their newly orphaned son.”

Every muscle in Severus’ body tensed at the admission, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He had heard some of that information before, but never in such a blatant and unfeeling manner. To think that he’d lost his first and best friend over something as trivial as money and power sickened him. There was no justification for what Dumbledore had done.

“How could you betray Lily and James like that?” Black seethed.

Pettigrew didn’t even blink. “I was offered a great deal of money, an Order of Merlin, and the chance to return to society as a hero once You-Know-Who was defeated once and for all.”

Minerva had to hold Lupin and Black back by the collars of their shirts to keep them from attacking Pettigrew. Luckily for Severus, no one had a hold on him. He crossed the distance between himself and tied-up traitor, and punched him in the jaw with a resounding _crack_.

Pettigrew cried out in pain. His jaw had broken—or perhaps shattered was more accurate—the flesh around the destroyed bone swelling and discoloring in the ugly, mottled purple of a fresh bruise.

“That was for Lily,” Severus told him harshly, flexing his fingers to rid them of the post-impact sting. “You deserve worse, but I have no intentions of being apprehended by the Aurors along with you.”

“Please, Minerva,” Black begged, still held in Minerva’s vice-like grip, “let me get a hit in, too.”

“Oh, alright,” she conceded. “Just the one.”

Black bounded toward the mess that was Pettigrew and broke his nose with a single, hard punch. “That one was for your supposed best friend James!”

Never in his life had Severus found Black more tolerable and more human than in that exact moment. They’d both been betrayed by the same coward, both lost their best friend because of it.

“I’ll get you a bruise salve for your hand in a moment, Black,” Severus found himself saying. It was the least he could do.

“If everyone’s gotten that out of their systems,” Minerva said, only the slightest hint of disapproval in her voice, “I suppose it’s time we call the Aurors.”

*****

It didn’t take long for the Aurors to arrive. They were led into the office by Madame Amelia Bones and Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, both of whom wore the grim expressions of those who were about to comply with less an ideal orders. Both had been outspoken against the Kiss on Sight edict for Peter Pettigrew, but thanks to Fudge’s authority and the _Daily Prophet_ ’s ability to incite panic among the wizarding public, they had no choice but to comply.

Severus had no respect whatsoever for the minister or even the Ministry as a whole, but Madame Bones and Kingsley were a respectable sort. They valued fairness and justice and were widely believed to be incorruptible, rare traits among an institution fraught with bribery and buy-ins. Few could claim to match their level of integrity.

Kingsley had been three years ahead of Severus at Hogwarts, and, like most people Severus respected, he was a Slytherin. Even in school, he’d been fair and just, earning a name for himself among all four houses as someone the other students could depend on. It had been no surprise when he’d been made prefect and then head boy—perhaps the only Slytherin to do so during Dumbledore’s decades of being headmaster.

Madame Bones was nearly a decade older than Severus, and, while he’d never attended school with the woman, his interactions with her during and after the war had proved to him that she was well worth her reputation. She’d been the one to insist Severus receive a full pardon during the Death Eater trials, refusing to allow anyone to imprison him simply for bearing the Dark Mark. Only those who’d committed war crimes were destined for Azkaban, and the worst he’d done was pass on information and defend himself (and kill his father, but no one was able to prove that). 

“You do realize you would’ve been well within your rights to simply throw Pettigrew outside and let the dementors have at him, right?” Kingsley said by way of greeting.

Severus snorted. “And let them have all the fun? I don’t think so.”

“Is that what happened to Pettigrew’s face?” Kingsley asked, amused. “Fun?”

“No, we found him like that,” Severus blatantly lied, knowing full well that Kingsley wouldn’t believe him.

“Of course,” Kingsley agreed. “It doesn’t much matter anyway. Fudge won’t let us file a proper report for this. He wants it swept under the rug as quickly as possible.”

“So naturally you and Madame Bones will be waiting until he’s out of office to file the report.”

“Naturally.”

Severus gave a noncommittal hum. Truthfully, he didn’t care if the Ministry took the by-the-books approach or not for the rest of their dealings with Pettigrew. He’d gotten the closure he’d waited twelve years for. Nothing else mattered.

“Unofficially,” Kingsley began in a low voice, “would you be willing to provide copies of tonight’s memories should a posthumous trial for Pettigrew ever be held?”

Severus arched a skeptical eyebrow. “What makes you think anything trial-worthy happened tonight?”

“I’ve known you for decades, Severus,” Kingsley reminded him. “You wouldn’t have allowed the Aurors to be called unless you’d already questioned him.” A hint of amusement crept into his voice. “Was the Veritaserum your own brew?”

“As if I would trust anyone else’s,” he said sardonically.

“The memories?”

“Would be quite enlightening should Dumbledore ever be apprehended by law enforcement.”

Kingsley gave a terse nod. “Best to keep that sort of information to yourself for now,” he admitted. “Moody may have been forced out of the Aurors, but who’s to say there aren’t other Dumbledore loyalists still among our ranks?”

Severus understood all too well what Kingsley was hinting at. Destruction of evidence and frame jobs had been rampant during the end of the war, especially when it came to protecting Dumbledore’s precious Order of the Phoenix. Kingsley wasn’t about to take the chance of taking anyone’s memories tonight, not when there was a chance someone within the DMLE would modify or even destroy them.

“The Aurors aren’t the only ones in possession of pensieves,” Severus replied.

“Good,” said Kingsley. “Now we should probably go and see what the others are discussing in your office.”

“Very well.”

*****

By the time Severus and Kingsley got around to rejoining the others, arrangements for what exactly to do with Pettigrew had already been made. The plan was to keep him immobilized while they took him out onto Hogwarts’ grounds and let the dementors have at him. There was little else they could do.

Part of Severus wished they could have forgone the official route altogether and host Pettigrew at Slytherin Castle indefinitely. Those in attendance tonight were hardly the entire list of people who’d want to see justice enacted on the traitor. What’s more, most of them would have preferred a more hands-on method of dealing with him. They’d have left his soul intact for the dementors, but there would’ve been little else left of him by the time Marvolo’s Inner Circle had finished with the would-be guest.

Unfortunately, with the newly established legitimacy of the Dark Faction within the government, certain restrictions on dealing with those who’d wronged them had to go through proper channels. Pettigrew was too high-profile for them to spirit away and torture until they were satisfied that the Potters were sufficiently avenged. Someone would surely notice if he disappeared for months, only to return bloody and barely breathing, before the dementors were called in to do their duty.

“Do you all plan to watch?” Madame Bones asked once they’d reached the dementors’ outpost. “You have that right as persons wronged by the accused.”

Severus was so surprised by the offer that he’d hardly had a chance to think of a response before Minerva replied: “Aye, we do.”

“Absolutely,” Black agreed, a slight growl to his voice.

Not a single person declined Madame Bones’ offer.

Severus watched on in a mix of awe and disgust as Madame Bones ushered the dementor over to the cowering, silenced Peter Pettigrew. The rat’s mouth was wide open, shrieking some mute scream of protest, his teeth gnashing and nose twitching like the animal he’d pretended to be for so long. Whatever his last words were, no one would ever hear them.

“It’s time,” Madame Bones announced to the small crowd.

With an ominous billowing of its tattered, black robes, the dementor stalked towards its prey until it was mere inches from Pettigrew’s face. Long, bony fingers extended from the robe’s sleeve—first to touch the traitor’s cheek, and then to grab him by the jaw. And then, finally, it latched onto its victim’s mouth.

For several long seconds, the dementor stayed in place, silenting stripping the soul from Pettigrew’s flesh. Severus could hear a faint, rasping sound as it happened, as though the dementor was inhaling the scent of something foul. Perhaps some souls were too insidious for even these starved, parasitic creatures.

Finally, it unlatched from its victim, and the hollow shell of Peter Pettigrew collapsed onto the ground. His eyes were vacant and his body unmoving. There was nothing left of the man who betrayed the Potters but the final beats of a dying heart.

“His body will be taken to the Ministry for destruction.”

Severus startled. In his fascination with the Kiss, he’d nearly forgotten that Kingsley was standing right beside him. “Destruction?” he asked once he got his bearings.

Kingsley made a noise that could have been in affirmation or disgust. “We can’t exactly bury him on Azkaban since he was never there, so he’ll likely end up in the same fiendfyre furnace we use to destroy relics that are too dangerous to exist.”

“Do many corpses find their way in there?” Severus inquired, despite not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Usually just the ones at risk for being reanimated, or worse—worshipped as idols.”

A vision of an inferi Pettigrew popped into Severus’ head, and he grimaced. He doubted Dumbledore would actually stoop so low as to reanimate his sniveling servant, but he could picture it happening just the same.

“We’ll probably chuck Dumbledore in there when all is said and done,” Kingsley continued. “Merlin only knows what the likes of Doge and Diggle might do if they got their hands on his corpse.”

“Stuff and mount it like some sort of flesh statue, most likely,” Severus said before he could stop himself. That was the sort of sarcastic comment to be shared among members of the Dark Faction, not joked about with a member of law enforcement.

To his surprise, a low, throaty chuckle emanated from Kingsley’s throat. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried that.”

Severus decided that, whatever the story was behind Kingsley’s comment, he didn’t want to hear it. Some things weren’t worth knowing.

“Well, I best be off,” Kingsley decided, looking at his wristwatch. “It’s late enough as it is, and I’d like to get at least a few hours of sleep tonight.”

Severus remembered the time and groaned. “And I have to deal with dozens of little dunderheads bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sure they’ll be even more irritating than normal just to piss you off, too,” Kingsley teased.

Knowing the children, they most certainly would be. Severus sighed. At the very least, he might be able to get away with docking more points than usual and blaming it on a poor night’s sleep.


	16. The Prediction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> final exams, babey!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. we all know jk rowling is angrily throwing out all her dvds containing elliot page right now, so let's take a moment to mock her insidious bigotry. fuckin' bitch.  
> 2\. as always: i don't own these characters + italics are portions yoinked from the fuck.

The news of Peter Pettigrew being captured and Kissed had gone around the entire Hogwarts student body by lunch the following day. Most accounts were wildly inaccurate and overdramatic—with rumors of chases around the entire castle, duels against the Aurors, and swarms of dementors converging on Pettigrew to rip out his soul. For the most part, everyone was misinformed about what had actually happened. Only those who had been there could be certain of the night’s events.

One of the few details that was consistent regardless of who was telling the story was Iris’ involvement in the rat’s capture. While the details were inconsistent, everyone agreed that the rainbow boa had caught Pettigrew for some length of time. Some even went as far as claiming Iris had eaten him after the Dementor’s Kiss was performed, an impossibility for a snake shorter than Pettigrew was tall.

Iris, of course, was taking every opportunity to be rewarded for her role in apprehending the criminal. _~I desserve compenssation for the human rat,~_ she’d insisted almost as soon as she’d spat him from her mouth. _~Perhapsss one of thosse little elvess can find me a nice, juicy sssnack.~_

For perhaps the first time since hatching her, Hydrus felt that Iris’ demands for treats were deserving, and summoned one of the elves from the kitchen. After a few minutes of playing translator, Iris was happily consuming a small quail that had recently been de-feathered. It wasn’t often that she craved pre-killed prey, but, according to her, she was simply too tired to go through the hassle of a second hunt.

Pansy had already started knitting a new sweater for Iris by breakfast the following morning. She’d had trouble falling back to sleep after the whole Pettigrew debacle, and decided to put her time to good use. And because Iris had saved them all, at least in Pansy’s opinion, she deserved a brand-new sweater made of green and silver yarn to keep her belly warm while slithering around on the cold stone floors of the castle.

“Besides, she deserves to be stylish,” Pansy had added for good measure while knitting between her morning classes. “We can’t have an absolute queen like Iris look anything but her best.”

“She’s already stylish with her prismatic scales,” Draco argued. “If anything, she’ll be less stylish in clothes.”

Pansy pursed her lips. “Are you criticizing my knitting skills?” she accused.

Hydrus decided it best to stay out of the argument that followed. There were few things more explosive than an argument between his two most dramatic friends.

For the rest of the week, Hydrus was hounded by non-Slytherin students who were anxious to meet Iris. They all wanted to congratulate her on a job well done, no matter how inconvenient of a time it was or if he even had her on his person. One fifth year from Ravenclaw had even stopped in the restroom to ask after the boa. It was all starting to get on his nerves.

Even Iris began to tire of all the attention. According to her, only Hydrus’ friends and the Slytherin students gave her the proper respect; everyone else simply viewed her as a trophy or a toy that they wanted to see and touch just for the novelty of it.

 _~The red and yellow humansss are the worsst of all,~_ she declared after a group of first year Gryffindors had all tried to pet her at once. ~They have no ssensse of boundariesss.~

Hydrus was inclined to agree when it came to most Gryffindors, but he reminded Iris: _~Dade and Neville are red and yellow humanss.~_

 _~Yesss, I know,~_ Iris replied, _~but Dade iss alsso ssspeaker. That makess up for hisss failingss.~_

_~And Neville?~_

_~He hasss more mannerss than the resst of the red and yellowss combined.~_

Hydrus couldn’t argue with that. Neville really was quite polite and well-mannered, especially for a boy their age. He had the demeanor of someone much older and much gentler than a thirteen year old.

The excitement and gossip didn’t die down until the weeks leading up to exams. As intriguing and frightening as speculation about Dumbledore’s next move might be, it was far, far less important to the students than their grades. Even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil—the two biggest gossips in Hydrus’ year—had dropped the subject in favor of studying.

Theo had already worked himself up into a panic at least twice, and Percy Prewett-Weasley seemed to have taken up residence in the back corner of the library so he could study for his NEWTs. Fred and George, on the other hand, were quite relaxed despite it being their OWL year. Hydrus had a feeling that they were more like Hermione in that they really only needed to study just to better organize the information in their steel-trap minds; they simply chose not study very much because they found it uninteresting.

Hydrus, for his part, was most concerned about his History of Magic exam. Aunt Andromeda had taught them all a great deal of history that had almost nothing to do with the countless goblin rebellions. While it was all fascinating and Hydrus understood why he’d need to know it—particularly the parts that influenced modern laws—he had a bit of trouble keeping all the dates straight in his head. Was the Second European Vampiric Accords signed in 1331 or 1313? Or had it been 1133? All he knew for certain was that it protected vampires from being hunted and that the date definitely had a one and a three in it somewhere.

Hydrus had ended up making a whole stack of flashcards just for the dates of the major events, a study method that was quite novel in the wizarding world if his friends’ reactions were anything to go by. They’d all acted as though they’d never seen anything like them before. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but, within a few days, all of his friends had made their own stacks of flashcards.

“Maybe I’ll actually be able to keep Rigel’s Laws of Inanimate Transfiguration straight this way,” Draco had said, showing Hydrus his stack of cards during their study session in the Slytherin common room. “Then again, I’d try about anything to stop mixing them up.”

Pansy hummed in agreement. “It’s especially confusing when you factor Regis’ Theorem of Animate Transfiguration,” she added. “I keep worrying I’ll get their names switched up on the exam.”

“People in academia shouldn’t be allowed to have such similar names,” Blaise decided.

“I’m not sure that’s something they can help,” Hydrus quipped even though he was having just as much trouble keep the two scholars straight as everyone else.

“Then they should change their names to stand out a bit more.”

Pansy arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Why would they change their names when, until the past decade or so, most scholarly works were published by purebloods who banked on name recognition in order to make a career for themselves?”

“How do you even know all that?” Draco asked incredulously.

“My mother wrote a whole exposé about prejudice and discrimination in academia a few years back,” Pansy explained.

Now it was Blaise’s turn to be indreculous. “Do you read all your mum’s articles then?”

Pansy shook her head. “No, of course not. She was just really angry about what she found doing the research for that. For a while there, it was impossible _not_ to hear all about it if you went into the same room as her.”

“Anyway…” Hydrus drawled, trying to get his friends back on topic, “has anyone made flashcards for Charms? I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“No, not yet,” Draco said at the same time Pansy handed over her stack.

Hydrus grinned. “You’re the best, Pansy.”

“I know.”

With that, the group of young Slytherins resumed their studying, though not for very long. The occasional going off on tangents halfway through their note revising and flashcard flipping turned to a frequent occurrence, and then, without meaning to, wholly unrelated topics dominated their conversations. It had happened so easily, so naturally, that none of them had noticed when their studying had turned to swapping stories. Still, none of them were all too concerned. There were several weeks until exams began.

*****

Final exams descended upon the students of Hogwarts with the creeping chaos of an approaching tornado. Distracted study groups quickly gave way to rigid individual study schedules. Every inch of the library was crammed with people reading and revising in absolute silence, with so much as a page turned too loudly or the rustling of papers earning the responsible party at least half a dozen irritated glares.

By the time of his first exam, Ronald Weasley felt as though he’d crammed so much information into his brain that it might start leaking out of his ears. He half worried he’d put Charms answers on his Transfiguration exam and vice versa, or start writing about the wrong subject in the essay sections. It was simply too much to remember all at once.

History of Magic—the only one of his exams without a practical portion—was the very first one. Ron wasn’t entirely sure if he got all of the dates right, but, for the most part, it wasn’t all that bad. Professor Tonks was a far better teacher than Binns, and she was always clear about which information was most likely to show up on a test. Best of all, the dates were worth the least amount of points compared to the actual details of the events. All in all, he had a good feeling about his grade.

Nearly all of Ron’s other exams went in a relatively consistent manner: a reasonably challenging open-answer and essay exam, followed by a practical portion to gauge his ability to perform the spells he’d learned this year. Potions, of course, had a brewing component instead of spell casting, but otherwise even that test was mostly the same as everything else.

Professor Lupin’s exam, on the other hand, was set up differently from any test Ron had ever taken before. Rather than having each person perform spells at their desk or in the classroom, he’d set up an obstacle course that utilized all of the creatures and defensive measures they’d learned throughout the year. Ron found it much more enjoyable than the rest of his exams.

The grindylow had been the most difficult part for Ron, but, once he’d remembered their fragile fingers, was able to break free with relative ease. One of the broken fingers had still been stuck on him when he’d finished the course, but he didn’t think he would lose too many points for that. Otherwise, he felt confident that his practical Defense exam had gone quite well.

“I know they call all the spellwork portions of our tests ‘practicals’,” he’d said to Justin as they waited for Hermione to finish the course, “but they’ve never actually felt truly practical like this one, you know? I mean, I actually understood why I needed to learn what I did.”

“Exactly!” Justin readily agreed. His hair was mussed up, and he looked more of a mess than Ron had ever seen the typically well put-together boy. “I’ll never need to transfigure a teapot into a tortoise in real life, but there’s every chance of needing to defend myself from a boggart or a grindylow.”

Just as Ron was about to reply, a short, sharp scream came from the direction of the obstacle course. He whipped his head around just in time to see a shaking Hermione retreat from the very last stop in the obstacle course—the boggart. Her wand was still in her hand and the cabinet housing the boggart was closed once more, a sure sign she’d defeated it, but it was clear that even getting it out of her sight wasn’t enough for her to feel at ease.

Hermione still hadn’t fully recovered by the time she joined Ron and Justin, and Ron felt obligated to ask her what had happened to upset her so much.

“It was Headmistress McGonagall,” she whimpered. “She told me I failed everything and couldn’t come back to Hogwarts in the fall.”

Ron fought down the urge to snort. Of all the things a person’s greatest fear could be…

“You really are a true Ravenclaw,” Justin teased her good-naturedly.

Hermione tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a stilted hiccuping sound.

_It took a little while to calm Hermione down. When at last she had regained s grip on herself, she, Justin, and Ron went back to the castle. Ron was still slightly inclined to laugh at Hermione’s boggart, but an argument was averted by the sight that met them on the top of the steps._

Minister Cornelius Fudge was standing near the entrance of the castle, flanked by Lucius Malfoy and a toad-like woman dressed entirely in pink. Fudge and the toad woman both looked victorious about something, but Mr. Malfoy wore an expression of thinly veiled disgust. Whatever had brought them here had to be both important and potentially quite bad.

“Uncle Lucius?” Hermione said hesitantly.

Mr. Malfoy’s frown temporarily turned to a small smile when he saw his niece. “Hello, Hermione. Shouldn’t you be taking your exams right now?”

“We just finished up with Defense,” she replied.

“It was a massive outdoor obstacle course, Lord Malfoy,” Justin elaborated, casting a side-eye glance at the toad woman. “The Board of Governors made a great choice in hiring Professor Lupin.”

The toad woman started to get all huffy, but Mr. Malfoy spoke before she had the chance. “It’s good to hear that Hogwarts _finally_ has a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Ron didn’t know the finer points of what had just occurred, but he knew a power play when he saw one. As best as he could figure, both Justin and Mr. Malfoy knew that the toad woman had something against Professor Lupin, and they were rubbing her nose in it that he was so well liked.

“But I’m sure you’re not just here for us to tell you how great Professor Lupin is, Lord Malfoy,” Ron added, wanting to play along because, in all honesty, his gut instinct told him that the toad woman was an awful person. “Is there a reason for this particular visit? It seems a bit late in the year for a Board meeting…”

He also doubted that the Minister and this woman would be here for just a simple Board of Governors meeting. Usually the Ministry of Magic knew better than to try and interfere with Hogwarts business.

“We’re here about the dementors,” Minister Fudge declared proudly.

Ron let out a long sigh of relief. “Finally! We’ve all been petitioning to get rid of them for months now.”

“I was surprised they weren’t removed after that quidditch game they attacked,” Justin added.

“Actually—”

But whatever Minister Fudge was about to say was cut off by the pink toad woman. “The dementors are staying,” she told them in a matter-of-fact voice. “The Ministry has determined that the results far outweigh the risk.”

Ron’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Now he understood why Mr. Malfoy had been in such a bad mood when they first saw him. He’d been outspoken against the implementation of dementors at Hogwarts since the very beginning, and, according to his mum, had brought the issue to the Wizengamot no less than five times since the decree was issued.

“How can you possibly say that?” Hermione wanted to know. “The amount of hospital visits by students this year due to dementor exposure—”

“Are well worth the capture of Peter Pettigrew,” the Minister cut her off, his face going red with frustration at the mere hint of disagreement. “Some sacrifices must be made in order to maintain law and order.”

Mr. Malfoy looked like he was about to strangle Minister Fudge with his bare hands, but he neither moved nor said anything. Instead, he kept to glaring so icily that Ron was half surprised snow hadn’t begun to accumulate on the Minister’s head. Either Fudge was too brave or too stupid to properly appreciate the malice in those pale eyes. Given what Ron knew about the Minister, he was inclined to believe it was the latter.

“But Pettigrew wasn’t even captured by the dementors,” Justin pointed out. “They couldn’t even scare him off the grounds. Hydrus Lestrange’s snake was what caught him in the end, and it was the professors and the DMLE who brought him to the dementors.”

Minister Fudge’s face flushed from red to purple. “Now you listen here, Mr., uh…”

“Finch-Fletchley.”

“You listen here, Mr. Finch-Fletchley,” the Minister tried again, wagging his finger like he was scolding a misbehaving dog. “The dementors are a fundamental aspect of securing this school, even if they did have assistance with Pettigrew. After all, they’ve kept Dumbledore and who knows who else from trying to enter. One little rat sneaking through on their watch—”

“Could have cost the lives of countless students if he’d been that way inclined,” Hermione argued, her narrowed eyes hard as steel.

Ron nodded vigorously in agreement. “Yeah, and the wards do a well enough job to keep out people who shouldn’t be here. It’s not as if the dementors somehow create an anti-Dumbledore forcefield around the school.”

Minister Fudge opened his mouth to argue once more, and was yet again cut off—this time by Mr. Malfoy. “Bickering with school children, Minister?” he tutted. “Such unbecoming behavior for a man of your position. One might begin to question your fitness for office…”

The Minister began sputtering some sort of incoherent gibberish, and the toad woman sniffed dramatically. “Come on, Cornelius,” she said in an unnaturally girlish voice. “We both know that you know better than these—” she turned her nose up at Ron and his friends “—children. That’s why we’ve come to deliver the contract extension for the dementors to the headmistress.”

“Right you are, Delores,” Fudge agreed. “Right you are.”

With that, the two marched off in the direction of the headmistress’ office, acting far more self-important than anyone Ron had ever seen before—even including Percy.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Ron apprehensively began once the Minister and his lackey were out of earshot, “I know the Dark faction doesn’t actually go around killing people like rumor claims, but do you think you could make an exception and off Fudge?”

Mr. Malfoy looked at him for a moment, eyes comically wide, and then did a very un-Malfoy thing: he laughed. It wasn’t just an amused little snort or a quiet chuckle, but hearty, full-blown laughter. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Weasley,” he finally said, sounding rather breathless.

Somewhere, deep down, Ron had a feeling that Mr. Malfoy meant what he said. And to his surprise, he wasn’t bothered by it at all.

*****

The encounter with Minister Fudge stuck with Ron for the rest of the day, regardless of how hard he tried to forget about it. He simply couldn’t believe an elected official could be so willfully incompetent as to contiue endangering students for the sake of feigning security. He’d never understood why his parents would get so angry when talking about politics, but now he finally did. How could anyone _not_ get angry with an idiot like Fudge in charge?

It was all still rolling around in the back of his mind as he made his way up to Professor Trelawney’s classroom and sat down for the practical half of his exam. Her class hadn’t been nearly as informative as Ron had hoped. Rather, it was quite clear that she was complete charlatan. All she ever did was predict pain and suffering and death. The only good thing about the class was the textbook, which explained all the things Trelawney only pretended to understand.

“Now, my dear boy,” Professor Trelawney said in her foggy, faraway voice as she hovered over the crystal ball placed in front of Ron, “why don’t you tell me what you See?”

At first, Ron didn’t see anything but their reflections. The longer he continued to stare, though, a vague, shadowy scene began to appear. It took shape slowly but surely, sharpening around the edges until it finally snapped into focus.

“It’s a castle… or maybe a prison,” Ron guessed, squinting to get a better look. “There’s a man inside with white hair and manic eyes… and he’s… he’s waiting for someone.”

“Yes?” Professor Trelawney prodded.

“The walls are shaking… like they’re being pounded against by something heavy… maybe a battering ram?” At Trelawney’s nod, he continued. “He can see the sky now. He’s… Merlin, he’s free! He’s gotten out of the prison!”

Ron didn’t even know who it was in the prison or where the prison was, but he felt a terrible sense of foreboding as he watched the man step over the wreckage and out into the world. Something terrible was coming, and it was coming soon.

“Oh, very good! Top marks!” Professor Trelawney praised him, though he was too disturbed by what he’d seen to properly appreciate it. “One can only begin to imagine the levels of symbolism being portrayed. Perhaps you or someone close to you feels they need to break free from their current situation, or maybe try something new. Society is quite the cage, after all, and there’s no shortage of people wishing they could go against the grain.”

Ron nodded along even though he didn’t agree with Professor Trelawney’s interpretation at all. There were no symbols or metaphors to be found. Someone was definitely going to break out of a high-security prison. He only wished he knew who it was and when it would happen.

But Trelawney kept on chattering about how _inspired_ Ron’s vision had been. She’d always preferred the darker predictions made by students, and it was clear a prison break counted among those dark preferences. It wasn’t until he made to leave the room that she stopped—

_”IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.”_

Ron turned on his heels. _Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were unfocused and her mouth sagging._

“W-what will happen tonight?” Ron hesitantly asked.

_But Professor Trelawney didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. Ron stood there in a panic. She looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. He hesitated, thinking of running to the Hospital Land—and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own:_

“THE FALSE LORD LIES IN WAIT, WATCHING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO STRIKE. HIS OLDEST ALLY HAS BEEN LOCKED IN CHAINS FOR NEARLY FIFTY YEARS… TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT… ALLIES WILL JOIN AGAIN TO RESUME THAT WHICH HAD TORN THEM APART. THE FALSE LORD WILL SHOW HIS TRUE FACE, AND HIS WORK WILL BE GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER BEFORE… IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.”

_Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Then, quite suddenly, Professor Trelawney’s head snapped up again._

_”I’m so sorry, deary boy,” she said dreamily, “the heat of the day, you know… I drifted off for a moment…”_

Ron stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at his Divination professor. Drifted off? How could she possibly have confused a vision with falling asleep? Seers always remembered their visions with perfect clarity, except, of course, in the case of true prophecies—

That had to be it! His great-aunt Muriel had never had a true prophecy, but she had plenty of literature about them around her divining room. Prophecies took so much energy to channel through a Seer that it left them physically and magically drained, and they often forgot not just what they had Seen but also the events leading up to and immediately afterward. Ron had never suspected Professor Trelawney to be capable of channeling true prophecy, but stranger things had certainly happened.

“P-perhaps you should have something cold to drink?” Ron suggested slowly, still too shocked by what had happened to even begin processing the exact words she’d said. “And maybe a bit of sugar?”

Professor Trelawney blinked a few times before finally giving a nod. “I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” she replied, her voice once again taking on its odd, faraway quality. “You ought to as well, dear. You’ve gone rather pale.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He made his way towards the door. “I… I think I will.”

Ron made it out of the tower and halfway through down the corridor before the weight of Professor Trelawney’s prediction hit him. He’d heard rumors of another prophecy referring to Dumbledore as a false lord—the same one that had supposedly been what convinced the DMLE and Department of Mysteries to investigate the former headmaster. Was it possible that the one he’d just heard was about Dumbledore as well? Was it related to the first prophecy?

There was one thing Ron knew for certain: he needed to tell someone what he’d heard as soon as possible.


	17. Gellert Grindelwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone prepares for the prophecy to unfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. sorry this took so long. life (and my job) is a bitch sometimes.  
> 2\. i still don't own these characters despite deserving it more than rowling

As soon as Hydrus turned in his exam and left the Arithmancy classroom, he was accosted by a panicking, flush-faced Ron. From what he could understand of the too rapid and too jumbled mess of words pouring from his friend’s mouth, Professor Trelawney had made a real prediction right in front of him after his Divination practical—and a very bad one by the sound of it. It had freaked Ron out to the point of nearly hyperventilating, so Hydrus did the only thing he could think to do: he brought the matter to his father.

His father had listened, curious first, but grew more and more alarmed as Ron continued to explain what he’d heard. By the time Ron had finished, Father had gone deathly pale. Hydrus had never seen him look so worried before, and felt the first tendrils of dread tighten around his chest at the sight. What on earth could possibly have put his father in such a state?

“There were rumors back in the day…” his father muttered to himself, pacing the length of his office. “But no… that can’t be it… can it?”

“Professor Gaunt?” Ron asked nervously. He looked a bit like he thought Hydrus’ father was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, and had backed away slowly until his spine was flush with the bookshelves lining the walls.

Father snapped out of whatever was preoccupying his thoughts and turned to Ron and Hydrus. “Grindelwald,” he said by way of explanation. “When I was around your age, there were rumors that Dumbledore’s hesitance to stop Gellert Grindelwald was due to their having a more… personal relationship. There was never any proof of it, of course, but that didn’t stop people from talking.

“I had thought it strange as well,” Father continued, once again pacing the length of his office. “It was no secret that some of the students—particularly the muggle-born and muggle raised students—didn’t always return after the holidays. Even when it was proved that a number of them had been Grindelwald’s victims, Dumbledore dragged his feet at putting a stop to it all.”

Hydrus’ chest tightened even further, making it hard to breathe. “Are you suggesting…?” He trailed off, worried that merely speaking the words into existence would make it all real.

“I am,” his father confirmed. “It all fits. The prophecy. The rumors. Dumbledore’s refusal to kill Grindelwald during their due after years of not acting all.” He shook his head and sighed. “Who else could it be?”

Ron looked like he was about to vomit, and Hydrus wasn’t far behind. It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that Gellert Grindelwald was one of the most heinous, depraved wizards to ever live. His experimentation on muggle-borns and orphans had been so disturbing and inhumane that, if wizards knew more about the muggle world and its history, they might have compared him to a Nazi S.S. officer—and, in particular, Nazi “doctor” by the name of Josef Mengele.

There were no redeeming qualities to Grindelwald or what he’d done during his rise to power. No advancements in science had been gained from his so-called experiments on unwilling children. Rather, a good deal of modern theories and newly discovered knowledge had been destroyed in the forms of book burnings and killings of scholars. He hadn’t done anything to improve the lives of wizards like he’d claimed he would—not that many believed his promises in the first place. His reign was instead fraught with nothing but death and destruction and depravity. To this day, he was seen as one of the darkest stains on the wizarding world’s rich history.

“Well…” Hydrus said, feeling a bit off-kilter, “what do we do now?”

Unfortunately, even Father wasn’t entirely sure. Grindelwald’s prison, Nurmengard, was in some isolated bit of land in rural Austria. There was nothing anyone from the British Ministry could do to keep him from escaping, nor was there any guarantee that either the British _or_ Austrian Ministries of Magic would take heed of a tip based on a prophecy. Divination—and even the work of prophets—was still widely looked down upon as nothing more than a hobby for house-witches and young girls who wanted to know who they’d marry. It was a struggle getting anyone to take it seriously.

In the end, Hydrus’ father decided to inform both Headmistress McGonagall and Madame Bones of Professor Trelawney’s prophecy. Even if neither woman had the power to stop Grindelwald’s escape from happening, they could at least take precautions against his impending return. It didn’t feel like nearly enough, but, no matter how much they wished it wasn’t the case, this was the best they could do.

“At the very least,” Headmistress McGonagall had told them, a determined gleam in her eyes, “Hogwarts will be an impenetrable fortress long before those two reach our shores.”

All three adults had begun brainstorming what fortifications they’d need to prevent Grindelwald’s next rise from causing the same devastation as the first. Madame Bones wanted to double the size of the DMLE (and especially the number Hit Wizards), Professor McGonagall was already drafting plans to increase the protections around both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and Father even went as far as suggesting he wake the basilisk living in the Chamber of Secrets.

“It would be perfectly safe,” Father tried to assure everyone in the room who wasn’t a parselmouth. “The basilisk is intelligent enough to know who it can and cannot go after.”

Only Hydrus was convinced in the validity of that particular plan.

Once everyone but Hydrus and his father cleared out of the office, Father sent out a message to his followers—directing them to prepare for battle. There was no doubt in his mind that Dumbledore’s freeing Grindelwald would be the first act in a vicious war, and they all needed to be ready for when it began.

The more his father prepared, the more nervous Hydrus grew. It didn’t feel at all like the old plans of simply holding Dumbledore accountable for his numerous crimes. This was war. It was bigger, more ominous, and it twisted Hydrus’ stomach just to think about it.

Father and his Death Eaters had been through war before, but even then, it had just been Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. While he may have “won” the last time, casualties on the side of the Dark had been minimal. The Light was safe, predictable, with only a few rouge members who had taken things too far. It was easy to fight against a known enemy. But this would be different. The Dark had no way of knowing what challenges might arise from going against a psychopath like Gellert Grindelwald.

“Rodolphus and Rabastan have just sent word,” Father began, snapping Hydrus out of his increasingly concerned introspections. “They’re already in the process of researching Grindelwald’s war—the tactics he used, the kind of magic he’s capable of. Knowing them, they’ll have a full profile written up on both Grindelwald and Dumbledore before they even make it to Britain.”

Hydrus gave a terse nod, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t even entirely certain as to why he was still here. There wasn’t anything that he—a barely fourteen year old boy with three years of magical education completed—could contribute. He had no experience, no advanced skills, nothing that could be of use while his father prepared for war.

He was determined to help in any way he could, but he felt so utterly useless. Would anyone even want him to get involved? Surely he’d do more harm than good. Still, he couldn’t escape the feeling that had to do _something_.

“Father?”

Hydrus’ father arched a curious eyebrow. “Yes, son?” he replied.

“Was it… did it feel like this the last time?” Hydrus asked. “The start of the war, I mean.”

His father regarded him with a cautious, guarded look in his eyes, as if he was debating whether or not to admit the truth. “Yes,” he admitted after what felt like a small eternity. “It feels just like last time—perhaps even worse.”

Hydrus inhaled sharply, then nodded. Their world was going to war again, and, for some reason, his family was at the center of it. He knew better than to seek out danger, but he would have to prepare for the day the danger came to him.

*****

Unspeakable Regulus Black-Prince read over the memo from Unspeakable Croaker for what must have been the hundredth time, each read-through filling him with more dread than the last. Another Trelawney prophecy had gone active. Not Cassandra Trelawney, but her great-great grandaughter—the overly showy and once-thought fraud Sybill. For the first time in her life, she’d had a true prophecy, and it couldn’t have been any more dire.

Albus Dumbledore—dubbed the False Lord by two prophecies now due to his decades long appropriation of the title Light Lord—would be taking his first major strike since disappearing a year ago. Attacking the wards at Hogwarts and sending Pettigrew into the school had been nothing more than tests and scare tactics compared to what was to come. If he succeeded tonight, and Regulus knew he would, then war was on the horizon.

Regulus hadn’t been born until well after Grindelwald’s reign of tyranny and violence, but he’d read enough in the history books and heard enough stories from those who lived it to know there wasn’t a more foul wizard to ever live. That Dumbledore would willingly free the monster only spoke to his own depravity of mind. Was he truly so desperate for control that he’d plunge the whole wizarding world into Hell?

Apparently, yes.

Growing up, Regulus had heard over and over again from his family about how terrible Albus Dumbledore was. He wanted to abolish Dark magic and strip Dark creatures of their rights. Or, at least, that was what his parents always said. And so, throughout his years at Hogwarts, he’d watched the headmaster carefully, never wanting to draw the attention of a man so clearly biased against people like him—all while wondering what the man’s plans were regarding Sirius.

It wasn’t until he joined the Unspeakables that Regulus regarded Dumbledore as being anything more than an outspoken critic against the Dark. Six months before the Dark Lord’s fall, Regulus had been ambushed and left for dead by several members of the Order of the Phoenix, and, were it not for Augustus Rookwood, he certainly would have died. Rookwood and the other Unspeakables kept him in an induced coma for well over a year as they repaired the damage done to him. When he finally woke up, they explained everything.

A small division among the Unspeakables had been tracking Dumbledore’s movements for decades, desperately searching for proof of the many unsavory rumors regarding the man. There had been talk of his being close to Grindelwald in his youth, rumors that he had a hand in the disappearance of several Hogwarts students during Grindelwald’s reign, and even claims that he’d done _something_ to try and set the Dark Lord up as a villain so that he could “vanquish” him and regain the glory of his younger years. Never once did any evidence surface, but certain rumors couldn’t be ignored.

And then, hardly a year ago, Unspeakable Croaker found that a centuries old Trelawney prophecy had gone active. Those who had been watching Dumbledore felt as though they had struck gold when they saw his name listed among those mentioned in the prophecy. Finally, they would have the evidence they needed to put a stop to his cruel machinations.

“AT THE TIME WHEN OUR WORLD IS AT ITS WEAKEST, THE THREE LORDS OF MAGIC WILL RETURN TO US. DARK… GRAY… LIGHT… TOGETHER THEY WILL HAVE THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE FALSE LORD… THE DESTROYER OF BALANCE AND HARMONY. BUT THE FALSE LORD WILL HAVE POWER THE THREE LORDS KNOW NOT… AN INSTRUMENT OF DEATH AND DEVASTATION… THE THREE LORDS OF MAGIC WILL RETURN TO US…”

Regulus had been left speechless the first time he’d overheard the prophecy. Not even with his years of looking into Dumbledore’s alleged crimes had he ever suspected the man had undeservingly appropriated the title of Light Lord. He’d carried the title with such surety that everyone had believed such a title belonged to him.

But his crimes were too numerous and the nature of his soul was too insidious for the title of Light Lord to be bestowed to him. Instead, he had fashioned himself into the Light’s champion through lies, manipulation, and murder. It had all been part of a grand scheme for power and prestige—a plan Regulus now realized had been put together along with the self-fashioned Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald.

And then there was the new prophecy. The False Lord’s ally would be freed tonight at midnight.

“I was hoping someone on your team would have a clue as to who his ally might be,” Unspeakable Croaker had admitted after relaying the contents of the prophecy.

Thoughts of Grindelwald escaping Nurmengard immediately sprang to mind—a worst case scenario that was all but confirmed the moment he received word from the Dark Lord. The listener R.B.W. had been Hydrus’ friend Ronald Weasley, who had run to Hydrus and then the Dark Lord with the information. All were in agreement that it could be no one else but Grindelwald.

Preparations were to be made among the Dark, preparations that Regulus shared with those few among the Unspeakables who had dedicated their careers to taking down Dumbledore. War was on the horizon, and the Order’s actions during the last war would look like child’s play compared to this one.

“The Dark Lord has already informed Madame Bones as well,” Rookwood told Regulus as the two of them shared what they knew thus far.

Regulus gave a terse nod. That was one less thing the Unspeakables would need to worry about. “What about Lord Longbottom?” he asked. “Has anyone told him?”

Lord Frank Longbottom being ordained by magic as the true Light Lord had come as a surprise to nearly all of wizarding Britain. Though there wasn’t a wizard alive with a whiter core or greater sense of honor, he was only moderately powerful. Yet, despite his average magical abilities, there was an aura about him that commanded respect and loyalty. Even as a Dark wizard, Regulus could feel the draw.

“Madame Bones said she would tell him,” Rookwood replied.

“What will we do now?” Croaker wanted to know. 

“Now,” Regulus said with finality, “we prepare for war.”

*****

Austria could be a lovely place in the summer, especially the countryside. Strong mountains, rolling foothills, and jewel green grass stretched on for as far as the eye could see, only stopping to meet the clear skies above. It was perfect. Placid. Picturesque. Prison.

Gellert Grindelwald abhorred Austria. The scenic view of the sprawling beauty outside the windows of Nurmengard Prison mocked him, taunted him with the lushness of all the freedoms of which he’d been stripped nearly fifty years ago. The world should not be permitted to be so beautiful, not when he was suffering so.

Nurmengard wasn’t as barbarically cruel as Britain’s Azkaban, but it was far more secure. Those weak-willed British wizards didn’t have the same imagination of German and Austrian wizards, couldn’t stomach the depths of Dark magic that had yet to be discovered. Cowards, the lot of them.

The only one who had ever come close was Albus Dumbledore. He had a certain lack of disregard for human life that Gellert found refreshing. Albus understood that not every life was sacred, that not everyone deserved to have free will. There were those destined to rule and those destined to be pawns. Each and every person was little more than a player on chess board. But Albus had been the strategist moving each and every piece to his heart’s desire. He was so beautifully and perfectly cold, such a master of Machiavellian maneuvering, that Gellert could hardly hold it against him when Albus managed to do the very same thing to him that he did to everyone else.

Their games of give and take had been the thrill of Gellert’s life. No one before had ever been able to keep him on his toes, but Albus was refreshingly unpredictable. His only major flaw was his limited imagination when it came to pushing the boundaries of magic. He was fine with the concept of creating an obscurus or pushing a twin bond to its limits, but he never took the initiative to attempt such things himself—or even to come up with his own experiments. It was all just a theoretical interest to him, not his life’s work.

Albus’ ambitions had always run towards power and influence, not the procurement of obscure and illegal knowledge. He had been the one to devise the plan of setting them up as the so-called greatest Light and Dark Lords of the era, staging everything to give the both of them household names for generations to come. And it worked. It all worked—

At the cost of Gellert’s freedom.

He didn’t blame Albus, not entirely. He _had_ gotten a bit out of control and probably deserved this prison. Things would have almost certainly spiraled into absolute chaos if Albus hadn’t put him away for his own safety. Gellert’s only complaint was where he’d been put. Surely there were nicer, more spacious places to keep him.

A loud, reverberating _thud_ summoned Gellert from his trip down memory lane. The stone walls of his prison shook and shuddered with the ferocity of an earthquake. _What could have possibly caused such a disturbance?_ he wondered to himself.

He peered out the small, barred window of his cell to see something he’d only ever dreamed about: Albus Dumbledore, blasting his way through all the protections of Nurmengard, using only the Elder Wand. It was a magnificent sight. Albus still had all the might and finesse of his youth, but with a practiced strength known only to those of advanced age. Those decades on the outside had done him a world of good.

It wasn’t until until Albus blasted a hole through the wall and stepped through it—sending dust and debris flying through the stale air in the process—that Gellert understood what was happening. “You came back for me,” he breathed, hardly able to comprehend that fact. Never in a million years had he expected to be let out of Nurmengard.

“I always said I would,” Albus reminded him fondly, “when the time was right.”

Albus extended a single hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Gellert took it. For the first time in half a century, he was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 books down. ??? more to go.


End file.
